Entr'acte: Ghost Spark
by Ha-Hee Prime
Summary: E1/OP&M, M&SS. "Peace? You? You don't deserve peace. Especially not from me!" A lifetime of obsession does not die easily, and Starscream's not giving up his jealous 'claim' on Megatron without a fight. A little thing like being dead won't stop him. Megatron's haunted by his past as he tries to build a peaceful Cybertron. Companion-piece to Transformation. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This story takes place between Acts IV and V of my _Transformation_ story arc. But if you haven't read that, you'll figure things out as you go along. : )

**Warning:** the following story fully deserves its PG-13 (or T) rating. You won't find any non-con or other M-rated crap in here, but you will find plenty of other ugly slag. This story is one of hatred, cruelty, and obsession. But it is also a story of forgiveness. I hope that it might be of some worth to you, as it was for me.

* * *

**Entr'acte:**

**Ghost Spark**

_**Scene I**_

_In the dream, the Decepticon Commander snapped to full alertness. His midnight quarters should be empty; he had triple-locked the door. But by some vague sense long honed in battle, Megatron knew for certain he was not alone. _

_He peered into the corners of his chamber, but saw nothing there but empty shadows. He scanned again in infrared. Still nothing was amiss. _

_The secondary moon shone dully through the small, high window to his right. Its colorless beams slanted downward, just beyond the foot of his stark berth. The scene might have been a photograph, it was so still. The only things that moved were tiny motes of dust that swirled serenely in the shafts of wan moonlight. Megatron watched their dance, and tried to quench the flutter of unease within him. _

_But as he let his focus fade, he felt a slow, cold dread steal up to clench his spark. For out beyond the shafts of light, the shapes of shadows pinged a warning in his mind. He looked again, and saw a silent silhouette of blackness watching him. _

_Its shape was more than just familiar. It was a form that Megatron knew better than his own. There was that anxious, wheedling tilt of the high shoulders. There were the ever-outstretched hands – half begging, but never daring to ask outright..._

_The form was black in gray moonlight. But even in the warmth of noonday sun, this figure would have borne none of the bright colors that Megatron was used to seeing on its plating. It was the lifeless gray of night, and no illumination would change that. For a jagged hole passed right through its dark torso, blasted by the gun on Megatron's right arm. The mech in the moonlight was dead. And it grinned maliciously at its quailing Commander._

"_You!"_

"_Why, Megatron! Are you surprised?"_

_Despite himself, the big mech flinched. He was fearless in the face of death, dismemberment, and pain. The broken, empty shells of terminated foes had never given him unease. But neither had they come back from the Smelting Pool to haunt him. _

_Megatron longed only for escape. And yet he could not move. He tried to charge his fusion cannon; but his servos refused to function. Caught in this hellish limbo between shut-down and reboot, he lay helpless at the mercy of his dreams._

_The eerie apparition took a single lurching step. "Do I have your attention, Mighty Megatron?" it sneered at him._

"_Go away, Starscream," the Decepticon Commander muttered tonelessly. "Leave me in peace."_

"_Peace? You?" A wild laugh sounded from the ghastly shape. "You don't deserve peace, Megatron. __Especially_ _not from __me__!"_

_The figure rose up over him on smoky wings of darkness that blotted out the dim light of the moon. "Coward," it scorned as Megatron's red optics flared in fear. _

_It swooped down on him then, and he gasped as he felt the fire in its heart burn through him. "But this is not about fear, my dear Leader," the thing hissed into his shrinking audial. "It's about __pain__." The phantom wrapped its arms around his neck, and sank like smoke into his armored body._ _H__e groaned in agony at its touch. _

_"It's __always_ _been about pain, Megatron," the high-strung voice exulted within his systems. "But now, you're not the only one who can inflict it!" The gray mech felt he must be burning, melting, dying, and he screamed in terror as the world went white._

* * *

Megatron had never been a mech who dreamed much. When he shut down his processor, he shut it down hard. He did not want to examine the vid-files his idling synapses might create if they began splicing his old memories together. So during recharge, he operated with barely enough power to run his spark core. This allowed him to spend less time offline; but it meant that his processor never got the chance to fully defrag. It was a dangerous dance along the edges of madness; but to Megatron, the freedom from his past was worth the risk.

The lifelong fighter was accustomed to being haunted by his history. He took his ghosts in stride, disguising the brief grimace that would flit across his face whenever a dredged-up file rose unexpectedly from his bilges of his tarnished CPU.

But lately, the past seemed much more _present_ than he liked. A sense of unknown menace set his servos squealing with the constant tension of his vigilance. Everywhere he went, the Decepticon felt watched. The dreams he would not face were forcing their way into the gray Commander's daily operation.

At last, when he'd grown tired of flinching at every shadow, Megatron decided to let whatever it was come through.

When his turn came for a few joors' recharge, he raised his baseline power a few notches, and hoped whatever memory was clogging up his cosmotron could be processed, flushed, and cast aside. It would probably not be fun; but Megatron assumed his ruthless spark was equal to the challenge.

He'd been wrong.

* * *

Megatron came online with a trembling clash of metal. He powered up his weapon and jerked unsteadily to his feet. He searched his room for traces of his nocturnal visitor, hoping against hope to find some easy explanation for his dream. But there was nothing: not a diode, plate, or circuit out of place.

Defeated, the gray warrior scrambled from his vacant quarters, tore through the tower's outer door, and blazed up into a fog-dark sky.

* * *

Optimus looked up from the holo-map, with a sudden sense that something was amiss. He glanced over at Elita, and met her clear blue optics peering questioningly at him from across the cluttered room.

"Let's go find him," he sighed, knowing that she'd need no further explanation.

Exiting the bunker, they transformed, leaving streaks of burning rubber on the ground behind them as they sped away.

The two bots boarded a tiny shuttle, and activated its computer. "He didn't even think to shut down his locator beacon," Prime muttered in growing concern.

"At least it'll be easy to find him, then," replied Elita tensely.

The red Commander threw himself into a seat, and hurriedly flipped the series of switches that started the ship's great engines humming. "Are you set?" he asked his bondmate.

Elita nodded swiftly as she finished tapping their trajectory into a foldaway keyboard. Their shuttle's contrail made a dazzling line of brightness as they shot up through the thin gray atmosphere of dawn.

* * *

Megatron did not look up; not even when the little transport came to rest with a sharp hiss a few short paces away from him. He'd used up the charge in his fusion cannon, but his flying fists still pounded. He'd made a sizable hole in one side of the little moon by the time they got there.

This lifeless place served as a last resort for mechs who needed to destroy something or burst. It had had frequent visitors, including Prime himself opon occasion. Optimus wasn't sure what they'd do when Cybertron's third satellite finally disintegrated; but that wouldn't be long now, if the Deception continued to hammer it like he was doing.

"What's eating at you, Megs old man?" he asked.

The gray mech rounded angrily on him. "Get the slag off my back, Optimus," he snarled. "I've got this under control."

"I see."

Prime stared meaningfully down into the deepening hole. After a klik or two he added thoughtfully, "That _'only the strongest deserve to rule_' credo will rise and bite you in the aft, if you insist on following it to the utmost, Brother."

"You're not helping!" Elita hissed. She knelt down at the jagged lip of bent and blackened metal that surrounded the hole which Megatron had blasted for himself. Once there, she focused her attention on her one-time enemy. She took in his flared optics, the frantic whine of his internals, and the fearful hunch incongruous upon the gladiator's hardened frame. Not since before the Ceasefire had she felt his energy so chaotic – or so hateful. She gasped and backed away from him in simple self-preservation.

"He's terrified!" she panted, when she reached Prime's side and clutched him.

"What's going on?" he called again, for her reaction worried him. "Tell us, so we can help you!"

The gray mech surged up from his pit, and stormed over to the two Autobots. "By the great Unmaker's hand!" he swore, "Stop trying to catalog my problems, Optimus! Not everything can be neatly classified into your precious library codex!"

He shoved between them, knocking both off-balance, and stalked away. "Leave me alone!" he shouted. "I can handle it. I just need- _Leave me alone!_"

Optimus watched him go, and wrapped his arms around Elita. "You all right?" he asked her gently.

"I'm fine," she said. "But Megatron is definitely not."

"I know," her mate mused darkly. "He _never_ wants to be alone."

* * *

_**Before...**_

"Pass me that blasted micro-laser!"

"You're such a lazy aft." With a disarming smile, a heavy, dark brown transport-mech tossed the requested implement across the room. "Here, Starscream. Catch."

The red jet snapped the tool out the air impatiently. "I may be lazy, Halfback," he retorted. "But I am the brains of this regrettable little team." He flashed the big six-wheeler his trademark smirk. "And of course I have my charm and my good looks..."

The other rolled his optics. "That's right, Starscream. Charm and looks are all you need to make it all the way to the top."

The tetrajet ignored his friend's sarcasm. He activated the micro-laser's stylus, and bent over the specialized processor he was piecing together.

The large, bright room was silent for a time; the only sounds the clicks and skitterings of a well-trained group of scientists pursuing their research.

"The Smelter _take_ this wretched heap!" No silence lasted long, however, when Starscream was around. There came a clash of thrown-down tools, and a dull thump as the hot-tempered jet kicked at the leg of his worktable. "I've checked the calculations a thousand times; I know this modulator will function as I've suggested. I shouldn't have to patch together a computer to demonstrate my genius to the rest of you fools, especially with nothing better to work with than this pathetic pile of scrap parts!"

Halfback snorted in amusement. "So much for charm," he teased.

He left off dissecting the remains of an unknown technorganic beast the exploration team had found on Nebulos, and made his way around the big room's central table. Deftly, he untangled Starscream's messy wiring work, and fastened two small modules together. He spun the laser stylus through his fingers with a flourish. "Easy," he proclaimed. "Even for an ugly, clumping mech like me."

The red jet huffed. "At least I won't be here much longer. I'm bound to get into the Senate soon. A mech of my abilities is wasted doing research on what others have done before."

As always, when his friend grew restless, Halfback sought to anchor him. "A mech of your abilities?" he teased, although he knew that Starscream's boast was not unfounded. "You've ruled out charm just now; so you're down to just good looks, old pal. And I'm not certain..." The big mech lifted his volatile lab-partner's chin in think, dark fingers, and examined the smooth face critically. "No good," he concluded, shaking his head in mock solemnity. "I've seen prettier things in the tunnels of Torkulon."

"That only goes to show that there's no accounting for some mechs' taste, is there, Halfback?" Starscream shot back. He turned his back abruptly, so that the brown mech had to twist out of the way of a swinging wingtip.

But Halfback stilled him with a hand on his friend's shoulder. He smiled indulgently, but his deep-set optics were dim. "Sometimes, you have to work for things, Starscream. A circuit board won't be won over by the power of your personality. And you may well find that neither will the Senate."

From his station at the opposite corner of the brightly-lit white room, Jetfire called in out mild impatience, "Would you two stop fooling around like newlings, please? We've got a lot of work to finish before shift's end."

"Certainly, Chief!" Halfback knew Jetfire looked forward to an evening's quiet cube as much as he did, and was anxious to be finished for the orn.

But back at his own worktable, the brown mech caught Starscream's gaze. _Rule wisely and well, when you've conquered the universe,_ he commed, only half in jest.

The red jet turned his back with every appearance of disdain. But to Halfback he replied with unwonted honesty, _I'll do my best._

* * *

"Starscream, there's a mech here to see you."

"That's all? Just 'a mech'?" came the pinched voice from behind stacks of reference tracks. "Who is he? Where's he from? And what's he selling?"

"Dunno. He wasn't very talkative." Halfback shrugged. "Just said he had a proposition you might be interested in."

Starscream huffed, and flopped into his chair, looking put-upon. "Well, send him in."

But as the door began to close, he called after his friend, "Maccadam's after work, same as usual?"

"As usual," Halfback reassured him. "See you there."

But Starscream never made it to Maccadam's Old Oil House that night. Or the next night. Or the next.

* * *

The strange visitor in his office sat so still it was unnerving. Yet that stillness, combined with the dark mech's terse, expressionless statements, was oddly compelling. In his presence, Starscream found it difficult to organize his thoughts.

"Why me?" he asked, confused. "I have no interest in the gladiatorial circuits. I am a scientist."

"A 'humble scientist' with aspirations to global power." The voice was utterly without inflection, but it managed the sardonic jab just fine, regardless.

"How-?" Starscream stopped, and composed himself haughtily. "You know nothing of my ambitions."

The blue mech did not respond to the retort. He merely continued on in the same flat monotone, "We know you have abilities that would be of use to us. We have need for skilled fliers. Your name topped the list."

Starscream lifted his chin proudly. He was good, and he knew it. But he wanted to be sure before he committed himself. "How do I know you're anything more than just the latest street gang?" he demanded. "I fail to see what that fame-seeking brawler Megatron could possibly offer that might convince me to jeopardize my position here."

_For that matter, what do these so-called 'Decepticons' want with __you__?_ he thought, as he examined the mech opposite him with some distaste. It was obvious the ugly, squarish bot was not a flier. He didn't even appear to have a vehicular mode at all.

"Your _position_ here?" The toneless voice was deeply mocking. Starscream disliked it more and more with each klik. "You are only a mid-level worker in a large complex... one of many others like it." An eerie gleam flashed behind the dark mech's visor. "We can offer you power. Respect. Command. Megatron has instructed me to tell you that, should you prove acceptable, the possibilities for promotion are..." Here, he tilted his head a single, precise nanometer, "_Almost_ unlimited."

Something about all this made Starscream nervous. But he could not shake a strange fascination with the whole idea.

_Power. Respect. Command. _The words played over and over like a blinking error message in his CPU. Starscream's most secret fear was that his chances for legitimate advancement were more limited than the reach of his dreams. _Power. Respect. Command._ Why not? He _was_ a superb flier; the best on all Cybertron, if you asked him. And several of his inventions were just waiting for some unusually-intelligent agent to realize their merit.

_Respect. Command._ There must be a catch somewhere in all this. But no matter what he told himself, the darkly tempting thought of being the famous Starscream whom everyone admired – instead of just another unknown lab tech – kept niggling at the back of his processor. The blue mech's yellow visor glinted at him again, and he shivered slightly. But after all, what harm could it do to check things out?

The messenger arose, although Starscream had said nothing. "Meet Megatron in forty breems," he intoned, "If you are interested." With the briefest of nods, he saw himself out the door.

Starscream sat alone in his office for several long kliks, reviewing everything the inscrutable visitor had said. _Power_... He could make a whole lot of things right, if he only had the means. _Respect._ He'd show them. He'd show them all.

* * *

"Well? Were you successful?"

"Yes, Lord Megatron. He will be arriving soon, as planned."

"Excellent." The scarred gray mech steepled his fingers, and looked up at his lieutenant. "Liabilities? Points of influence?"

"His buried self-hatred drives him to crave admiration from others. He wishes above all else to hold a position of authority, despite a tempestuous nature which makes him unfit for command. His abilities are not inconsequential; but they are certainly less than he believes them to be. He will be easy to leverage."

The masked blue mech paused, and leveled a piercing gaze down on his commanding officer. "Interestingly," he went on, "This Starscream also seems to feel an unusually strong need for a spark bond. In fact, in many ways he is not unlike-"

"Enough!" Megatron's red optics blazed in sudden anger. With some difficulty, he kept his voice to an icy calm. "That will be all, Soundwave."

* * *

Halfback looked up and smiled warmly as Starscream entered. But the smile left his faceplates in an instant as the red jet staggered, slammed down the door, and fell in a heap of shorting circuitry to the floor. "What happened to you?" he demanded, as he lifted the exhausted flier to his feet, and dragging him over to a nearby chair.

Starscream collapsed gratefully into the seat. "Target practice," he explained.

"What, were you the target?"

The battered flier snorted. "Very funny, Halfback. But none of those pathetic Smelter-rejects coulda hit me, even if I had been." He grunted painfully, still trying to find a comfortable way to sit. "I made the rest of the so-called Air Squadron look bad, is what happened. They jumped me, after speed drills." He let his head loll back against the wall, and vented a long sigh of contentment. "But Megatron pounded them for me, so that's all right." He smirked. "They won't be forgetting _that_ lesson any time soon."

"Starscream, you're being an idiot!" Halfback was frustrated by his friend's blind optimism. "It's Megatron they learned to fear today, not you. They'll hate you now, for getting them humiliated. Don't you see that? Your so-called rescuer ought to have known his show of favoritism would kill your chances of making friends with your fellow... Decepticons." He grimaced at the word, disliking it more every orn. "You're going to have to watch your back now more than ever," he warned.

"It's not like I'm not used to it," sniffed Starscream, unrepentant.

"Why? Why are you so willing to put up with this kind of thing?" Halfback asked angrily.

"I earned these," the flier pointed out, wincing. "I'm a Seeker, now." He proudly indicated two purple insignias on his wings. "Don't touch!" he yelped, when the brown mech bent to examine them. "They're still tender..."

"So you've made it official, then." Halfback slumped. He tried to be happy for Starscream, but there was nothing he could bring himself to cheer about. "You know how I feel about these upstart rebel factions. I wouldn't trust that Megatron with one of my spare tires. I wish I knew what he was tempting you with."

"It's not a temptation; it's a promise. And it's worth it, believe me." Cybertron's newest Decepticon let his systems slow with a contented sigh of relief. "Besides, you always patch me back together." He switched off his red optics, and waited with childlike faith for his friend to fix his wounds. "Good old Halfback..."

Sighing in exasperation, the big six-wheeler left the room, and returned with his depleted repair kit. With hands grown skilled of late, he gently wiped encrusted energon from the gashes in the light flier's thin plating. When he could see the wounds clearly, he began methodically to weld them each in turn. He knew Starscream would complain that he had botched the job, would say that the perfection of his form had been marred by Halfback's incompetence. But he also knew that there was no one else to whom the proud tetrajet would ever go to for help.

He shook his head. Sometimes he worried about being Starscream's safety net. But Halfback had never managed to leave the temperamental flier to face the consequences of his own impulsive actions. It would have felt like abandoning a newling.

He'd been working for almost a full joor, when the long silence was broken. "Halfback?" Starscream's usually cocksure voice was somber. "I know you've asked me to stop bringing this up. We spend most of our time together anyway, and of course talk of a spark-bond is ridiculous. But I-" His voice trailed off, but the naked face he raised to Halfback's steadfast gaze pled mutely for understanding.

The brown mech's his mouth grew tight, as he looked down at his battered friend. "Are you looking for someone to ground you, Starscream?" he asked bluntly.

"Of course not!" the fiery jet retorted. "Maybe! I don't know!" He shifted awkwardly. "It's just that, lately, I feel more and more... aw, frag..."

"Fragged just about covers it." Halfback dropped his tools into the battered box, and sighed. His servos squealed in protest as he lowered himself onto the floor beside the injured flier. "Starscream," he said gently, "You've got to realize that no other mech can make you feel complete. That's a job you've got to do yourself."

The injured jet flared into sudden anger. "What makes you think- I'm not-!"

"Starscream," the big mech called across his spluttering. He put an arm around the flier's shoulders, a familiarity that Starscream would never have tolerated from another bot. "Anyone who spends more than five kliks with you can see it," Halfback said. "It's obvious how much you hate to be alone."

The brown transporter sat back, and wearily rolled his neck to realign a kinked cranial linkage. It had been a taxing evening.

"I don't mind being here for you," he said. "It's nice to be important to someone. Besides, think how monotonous my life would be without your special brand of pandemonium! You make me smile," he added kindly, "And that's got to count for something."

Starscream glared at the bulky mech, and muttered something rude.

But Halfback was unmoved by the other's protestations. "I'll think about it," he said at last, reluctantly. "I hadn't planned to enter a spark-bond. I'm happy on my own. But..." He considered for a moment, and shrugged. "I suppose if you can't change the way you're programmed, then I'd be willing to be the mech you lean on."

Although he tried to hide it, a wave of relief passed over the new-made Decepticon's quick features. His expressive face held a world of silent gratitude.

"Thanks Halfback," he mumbled. "Thanks for not hating me for it."

"I'll never hate you, Starscream," the indulgent mech replied. "Now go get recharged before you collapse on the floor. Again."

The red flier shuffled off down the hall, hugging to himself the knowledge that at least there was one bot who had not rejected him outright.

But Starscream was destined to go through his whole life unbonded. And ungrounded.

* * *

"I miss you," Halfback said without inflection, as they sipped high-grade at Maccadam's a few quartex later. "Work's not the same without you. When you left they partnered me with stuffy old Jetfire." He made a face. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm bored."

Starscream curled his lip disdainfully. "There's nothing that could make me go back to that old treadmill," he declared.

Halfback set down his cube half-full, grimacing as the energon burned down his tubes. Starscream had insisted on buying a grade much stronger than the fuel the big transporter was used to. He knew his next question would not be a welcome one. But as always, he would ask it. He jerked his chin at the inverted sigils on his friend's outstretched white wings. "Are you still certain this is what you want to do?"

"Of course I am! Stop pestering me about my choice, for Primus' sake!" For the third or forth time that night, Starscream repeated, "Megatron is going places, and I am going with him! If you weren't so blinded by the propaganda of our so-called 'leadership,' you'd be going places, too!"

The flier took a big swig from his cube, and set it empty on the table. "I'm finally doing something_ important,_ Halfback; not just all that pointless scrabbling we did back at the lab. We – the Decepticon armies – Are going to make a difference. We're going to get rid of narrow-minded mechs like Sentinel Prime, and bring some slagging _justice_ to this planet!"

Halfback drew back, tensing. "It's true, then," he breathed sadly. "You really are outlaws now."

Starscream ignored the term, and pounded the chrome table in impatience. "You're missing the _potential_ here, Halfback! Not just for Cybertron, but for you and me as well! I could get us a real posh habitation, and we'd never go short on energon again..."

The stolid mech just stared at him, as if he were a stranger.

"I thought you would be happy for me," Starscream muttered, disappointed.

"Happy?" Halfback sloshed his high-grade back and forth across the bottom of his cube. "It's not all propaganda," he said quietly, still frowning into the fuel's dull glow, "I've talked to people, Starscream. Done my research." He shuddered. "If some of the things that I've heard from eyewitnesses are true..."

"Those rumors are just lies, made up by jealous mechs," put in Starscream quickly. But he would not meet his tall friend's gaze.

"Come with me, Halfback," he implored, leaning his elbows on the table. "Then you'll see. I'm sure they'll find a place for a burly groundpounder like you, somewhere!"

Halfback winced; not at the offensive term some fliers employed to describe the non-flying majority, but that the jet hadn't even seemed to notice he was saying it. He'd heard that ground-bound mechs did not last long within the burgeoning Decepticon ranks. He shook his head, and took a drink to cover his revulsion.

"What's stopping you?" Starscream demanded.

"I am," said Halfback heavily. "What you and your cohorts are doing is wrong. I can't sit idly by and watch. I have to do what I believe is right." When the other mech made no reply, Halfback set down his cube with a heavy, final clunk. "I care for you, Starscream," he said. "But I won't be your refuge any longer."

The cocky half-grin faded from the jet's expressive face, and his countenance closed down. "Are you going to turn me in?" he asked with icy calm.

Halfback raised dark optics to his lost friend's icy stare. "Yes," he replied sadly. "If I have to."

"You said you'd never hate me."

"I don't hate you, Starscream. You are my friend. And thought you may not think it, this is what a real friend does."

Without a word, the red jet rose. He left the table, the Old Oil House, and the last true friend he would ever possess.

* * *

Megatron sat in state upon a custom-fitted throne of tri-lithium and bronze. "The time has come to strike, Starscream, my newest and most enlightened lieutenant. We must seize the power from those who fail to wield it properly, and reforge this planet of ours into the cosmic dreadnought it was destined to become."

Starscream shifted nervously through his Commander's spiel. He'd done his best to merit Megatron's attention, to find a place among the leaders of the movement. Today's summons bore witness to his success. But now that it had come down to it, he didn't feel as confident as he'd claimed about the wisdom of his recent actions.

He glanced unhappily around the big iron room. On his right, Soundwave stood guard at the doorway. And at his elbow, Skywarp fidgeted, always gung-ho for any sort of action.

He could not back out now; not without losing face to friends and enemies alike. And right now Starscream wasn't certain which was which. So from here on, he'd make his way forward as best he could.

For now, he feigned humility. "What is your command, Lord Megatron?" he asked with an obsequious bow.

The Commander smiled languidly; and the expression sent shudders through Starscream's capacitors – shivers of fear, of fascination, and of hunger.

"Ironic, isn't it – how often fate will bring us back to our beginnings." The big Decepticon lifted his gray head, and met his newly-minted Seeker's shrinking gaze. "I'm sending you and Skywarp here to the research complex at Altihex." His optics flashed like ancient coals. "You know it, I believe?"

"I do, Sir."

"Destroy it for me. I want nothing but a crater there. Finish it in seven breems or less, and I'll promote you to Air Commander."

"_Now_, Lord Megatron?" His vocalizer squeaked, and he hated himself for showing weakness.

Megatron's grim smile sharpened to a knifepoint. "You have an objection, Starscream?"

Despite himself, the flier felt his hands lifting beseechingly. "It's only that- A mech I used to work with there – a friend of mine – He'll be-"

"Ah yes. Halfback will be inside, won't he?" said the inscrutable gray warrior, steepling his fingers.

A flash of panic surged through Starscream's CPU. They knew... Oh, Primus, they all _knew... _He flinched as Megatron stretched out a single, heavy arm, and took his chin in thumb and forefinger.

With a light touch, the leader drew the soldier's face downward till it was inches from his own. "Your friend has been working against us; did you know that?" he murmured.

The flier's fear intensified. Of course he'd known that Halfback would resist, that he would not be just a passive cog in the machine. Starscream expected nothing less of him. But what would be his punishment for withholding that information?

But Megatron was speaking, still with the deceptive mildness of a predator toying with its captive prey. "Your friend has come into possession of some information that, were he to broadcast it, would be detrimental to our plans," he whispered into Starscream's shrinking audials. With sudden violence, he thrust the new-made Seeker's face away from him. "He must be terminated. Now."

The red jet summoned up the last of his depleted courage. "But- Lord Megatron, please-!"

"You _cared_ for him, didn't you?" There was a sneering emphasis on the word. Smooth as hot oil pouring over cinders, the gravely voice continued, "Soundwave tells me that you'd actually asked him to _bond_ with you..."

Starscream shot a hate-filled glance at the Communications Officer. He'd find a way to punish him for tale-bearing, if it was the last thing he did online-

"...He refused your proposal, of course. Who wouldn't? But that's not what matters now." Black fingers clamped around the flier's neck, jerking him off-balance. Again, his head was roughly twisted down until he stared directly into his Leader's own cold optics.

"Understand this, Starscream," growled Megatron. "The life you had is ended. You gave it up of your own free will. Now you belong to _me_." He stroked a thumb down the red Seeker's cheek, its smoothness a sharp contrast to his own rough-hewn features. He smiled, and put a steadying hand on the cringing flyer's wing. "_I'll_ be the one who takes care of you now. I'll give you opportunities that even you could never imagine. But before I do, you must prove that your loyalty is to me, and _only_ to me. Obey this, my first order to you, and show your worth."

"Yes, Megatron," the red jet whispered brokenly.

The Decepticon Commander gave his soldier an encouraging pat. "That's right." He smiled again. "And Starscream-" Quick as lightening, the gray mech kicked out, and knocked the Seeker's feet from under him. He slammed the lighter mech's face down against the armrest of his polished throne. "_Never_ question any of my orders again."

The new recruit fell to the floor in a contorted heap. He lay there gasping, streaming energon from a broken nose and unhinged mouth. Unable to speak, the jet could only spit in rage and humiliation.

As Megatron glanced with contempt down at the wounded mech, his lip curled in disgust. He shifted his gaze implacably to Skywarp. "That will be all," he said. "Get out; and take this useless fool out of my sight."

* * *

"Why do you take such pleasure in his torment?" queried Soundwave, as the door closed at the backs of the retreating fliers.

Megatron waved a dismissive hand. "He's weak. He feels too much. Thinks he's worthless unless he's showered with respect. I'll beat it out of him."

The dark blue telepath leveled an uncomfortably perceptive gaze upon the Decepticon Commander. "We _are_ still talking about _Starscream,_ aren't we?" he inquired, as a subtle flash passed beneath his concealing visor.

Alone of all his soldiers, Megatron was the only mech who did not fear Soundwave's uncanny ability to enter his mind at will. He had no doubts about the loyalty of his most-self-serving lieutenant: as long as Megatron held his place as Cybertron's strongest rebel, the implacable blue mech would follow him. They shared the same ambitions; one's advance was the other's gain. But even so...

An ominous whine rose from the fusion cells in the newly-installed cannon on Megatron's right arm. "Get out of my mind, you piece of filth," he growled, leveling the weapon at his Communications Officer.

Wordlessly, the dark mech nodded, turned on his heel, and left.

* * *

With a percussive scream, the lab complex at Altihex exploded. Cinders fell in fiery rain, as giant panes of glass slid down collapsing walls to crumple on the ground. Amid the moan of twisting girders, Starscream's keening wail of grief was never heard.

His energon was rapidly exhausted in the ferocity of his hysterical barrage. In fact, he would have fallen from the sky, had not the blue and purple wingmates Megatron had sent along as minders caught him by the arms before he crashed.

The sole survivor of the attack, Jetfire scrambled from beneath the rubble just in time to see the glow of his friend's thrusters fade into the smoke above the flame-lit gloom.

* * *

Starscream awoke from stasis, and looked up into criss-crossed metal beams and corrugated roofing. He recognized the ceiling of the Decepticons' repair bay, and loosed a long, slow sigh.

"I'm home," he murmured, testing out the words. He noted that his smashed jaw was repaired, and thought of Halfback's patch-work for an agonizing instant. It wasn't perfect; one hinge stuck a bit. But it would function.

He turned his head, expecting to see Hook, the green Constructicon who'd ended up as Medic of the moment.

But Megatron was there instead.

"Yes, Starscream. You are home." The gray Commander snuffed out the small welding torch he held, replaced it in its tray, and stepped up to his soldier's side. "And as you see, my passionate Lieutenant, I've taken care of you."

The tetrajet could find no words. He turned his face away.

But he could not avoid the black hand laid upon his shoulder. "You did well," the gruff voice said. "I'm very pleased indeed."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Scene ii**_

"_Do I have your attention?"_

_To his shame, Megatron had entered recharge with every light-emitting diode in his chamber set to full. And yet still the sparkless, blackened thing before him dared the blinding glare. It stood beneath the lights in undeniable solidity._

"_Do I have your attention, Mighty Megatron?" it taunted him again. "I'm hoping that you'll humor me by listening, for once. I have a question to put to you."_

_The mighty Megatron shuddered. But he kept his voice level. "Proceed." He sat up, put his back against the wall, and was relieved to find that he could do so._

"_What was the happiest moment of my life?"_

_The question made no sense. Yet as the silence lengthened, Megatron knew that a response of some kind was expected of him. He stirred himself reluctantly. "I have no idea, Starscream. What was the happiest moment in your miserable life?"_

_Red optics glowed to life in the dark visage. A gray arm gestured to the gaping breach in the unholy form. "Just before you blew this hole through my chest," the phantom said, "You said I was like part of your own spark." A humorless smirk crumpled the Seeker's countenance. "Twisted, you called me; and you were right to do so. But you claimed me nonetheless." The apparition lifted its right shoulder in the old familiar half-shrug. "I'll take what I can get," it said. _

_With sudden violence, the dark form imploded, swirling down to nothing but a faintly-glowing sphere of palest blue. _

_The lights within his chamber sputtered and then died; and Megatron woke blinking in the sudden darkness._

_He was once again alone._

* * *

Disturbed, the gray mech rose and prowled the night. But no matter where he went, there seemed to be nothing but bright rooms and carefree bots who bantered happily amongst themselves. Megatron skulked away from them, going deeper and deeper into the darkness. In the end, to his chagrin, he found that he had wandered into the one place which, till now, he always had avoided.

The Pleasure Chamber was supposed to be a deep and shameful secret. Yet every Decepticon knew it; and more than one Autobot as well. The room was unlit, save for the sickly glow which emanated from the colored liquids in old bottles and clear vials stacked in careless chaos along the rows and rows of shelves. Their unnatural violet-yellow illumination seemed to permeate the very air of the place.

The trappings of the area's activities filled the room. Manacles hung from the ceiling; boards with binding straps were set at various angles throughout the cluttered space; and tangled wires and tubing snaked over and around it all.

It looked like a torture chamber. Yet everything in here – all the lines and pulleys, all the tables and clamps – had been constructed in defiance of torture, in opposition to it. These fearsome-looking machines had all been built to elicit pleasure, designed to be an antidote to the constant tests of pain which the Decepticon Commander required of his troops. And true to the training they'd received from their dark master, they had pushed themselves, tested their systems to see just how much of it they could take.

So far, only Dirge had died from overload.

Drawn now by a curiosity he did not care to analyze, Megatron pushed aside a handful of dangling chains, and stepped reluctantly into the dim chamber. He took care where he placed his feet, as he moved stealthily across to one of the crowded shelves. He lifted a cylindrical jar of luminous red liquid, and frowned down at it, squinting. Its pale light ran like viscera along the sharp edges of his plating.

Discarding the canister with a sudden grimace, the gray mech shuffled backward till he bumped into a table. Looking down, he noticed that deep scars crisscrossed its surface. Many were in rows of four or five – made by the fingers of straining mechs, he realized with a start. Megatron was uneasily fitting his own hand into the deepest of the scores, when he was interrupted by a well-known voice.

"You always held yourself above this, didn't you?"

The Decepticon Commander whirled, his weapon raised.

Thundercracker was lounging negligently against in the doorway, his arms and ankles crossed, a scowl on his features. For a brief, spark-freezing instant, Megatron believed he was a ghost. The blue mech's form was like, yet so unlike that other's...

In the face of Thundercracker's sneer, he lowered his gun with some reluctance.

"You knew what we did here," the blue Seeker accused. "You let it happen. You didn't care. You just made damn sure you never got snared up in it yourself."

Megatron scowled at him. "Go away."

"You think it will end now, don't you?" Thundercracker scoffed, striding into the room as if his Leader had not spoken. "You think that you can kill him and this will all just go away..." He waved a hand at the array; and Megatron's tanks churned. "Well, I have news for you."

With a defiant, nervous glance, the blue mech lifted a container of syrupy liquid that was glowing a sickly violet off of the nearest shelf, and attached a long, transparent line to it. He bent his wrist, tore out a fluid duct, and jabbed the line into its port.

Megatron recoiled, lips curled in horror and disgust. "How dare you?" he demanded. "You're a disgrace! A shame to all Decepticons!"

"And you think I don't know that?" the second-ranked Seeker shot disdainfully. "But there aren't many left to hold the high ground any more. You may be the only one still untainted, dear Lord Megatron." The blue jet turned his back, and adjusted a few knobs on the stained console beside him.

"Your reconditioning protocols succeeded better than you could possibly have imagined," he went on. "You ripped out our capacity for simple enjoyment. You taught us to love nothing but the kill. But you never gave us anything to fill the emptiness in between. And now," he said in rising anger, "Now you tell us that the war is over, and there will be no more killing." He jerked a thumb, indicating the tangled machinery which surrounded them. "You've left us nothing but this place. Well _done_, Lord Megatron. You are indeed a _mighty_ leader."

While he'd been speaking, Thundercracker had unlatched his torso plating, pulled cables down from the barred ceiling, and plugged them into his power core. Now, with a hard glance at his Commander, he switched on the mechanism.

A low hum sounded at the edge of hearing. It took on a throbbing rhythm, till the floor vibrated with each heavy pulse. The blue flyer's expression began to lose some of its edges. He sank weakly onto one of many lube-stained tables, as a soft moan escaped from his loosened vocalizer. He looked up at Megatron with a strange, wan smile.

As the machine's output gradually increased, a hitch interrupted the smooth running of the flyer's engine, and his systems began to cough and lurch. The smile widened into a look of beatific bliss. "So what're you gonna do 'bout it?" he asked, his words beginning to slur. "Gonna blow us all to slag the way... you did Starscream?" The tetrajet's red optics flickered, and went dark. Trembling, he grabbed handfuls of hanging chains and groaned, his body straining upward from the berth.

"Stop this!"

Thundercracker barked a sharp and mirthless laugh. "This? This's _nothing-" _He broke off, gasping, but whether in pleasure or in pain Megatron could not tell.

"It will destroy you!"

"Why sh'd... _you_ care?" the jet grunted. "_You're_ still... clean... an' tha's all'at matters, right?"

Megatron reached toward the cables which ran into the blue Seeker's bucking torso, intending to rip them free and put an end to all this blasphemous display. But with a swiftness that shocked even the Decepticon Commander, the blue flier seized his wrist in an astonishingly strong grip.

"Don't... you... _dare_ deprive me of my overload." The prone mech's words were hard and clear. Then Thundercracker's head jerked back, and his whole body rose up from the platform in a terrible straining arc. From his mouth came an unholy, audial-shattering scream...

* * *

Starscream was screaming. It went on and on and on, long after the point when it seemed his vocalizer must burst with the tearing effort of it. He screamed with his entire body, arching out from the backboard, every micron of his energy given over to the sound.

The others in the room looked on, first in confusion, then contempt. "You know, we're all hooked up to these things same as you are, '_Screamer,'"_ Ramjet drawled. "And we're still somehow managing to hold it all together" He winced a little as his machine sent a particularly painful jolt into his circuits. "It's nothing we can't handle," he grunted, putting on a showy grin. "What in Unicron's dark belly is _your_ problem?"

But the red jet went on screaming.

* * *

"Lord Megatron."

"Yes, Soundwave?"

"There seems to be a problem with the conditioning of one of your recruits." The dark blue mech reached up and pressed a button near his left shoulder and ordered, "Laserbeak, eject." He caught the red and black Cassetticon as it leaped from his chest compartment; and inserted it, still folded, into a slot linked to the command center's projector.

Silently, he indicated the large screen. Faint and tinny, but still unnerving, came the sound of the red Seeker's piercing, endless cry.

Megatron looked up at master spy in some surprise. "He's even more useless than I thought! What kind of glitch is this?" The gray Decepticon drew back in deep revulsion, almost as if he feared he'd be infected by such vulnerability.

"It seems this mech lacks the capacity to adjust the receptivity of his sensor array," the Communications Officer explained. "Also, it appears his diodes are more than usually responsive to even the faintest stimuli. Hook says he's never seen a system so delicate."

"Delicate?" the big mech barked. "Set the machine to maximum output! Burn him out!"

"Ineffective," replied Soundwave. "No matter how high we set the levels, his sensors do not overload."

"Deactivate them, then!" snapped the Decepticon Commander. "He's a liability with such a weakness."

"Negative. Deactivating his receptors would be counter-productive, since the calibration of his sensors is what allows his performance in flight to be so superior to that of the other Seekers."

Megatron pounded a fist against the arm of his chair, snarling in anger. "He'll just have to learn to live with pain, then!"

There was the faintest pause before the dark blue mech nodded. "Yes, Lord Megatron. As you command."

The rebel leader looked up at the screen, and curled his lip. "Is there anything you can do to shut him up?" he asked.

* * *

The scream went on and on, an insupportable tearing of the air. The glowing red fluid pulsed through the thin, clear line and into Thundercracker's neural cortex. Power cords sent increasing waves of energy into his systems. And the flier's fingers dug into Megatron's wrist linkage until two cydraulic ducts popped loose and the black hand went limp.

With each surge, the Seeker's body bucked and jerked. He would have fallen from the platform onto the floor, if Megatron had not braced himself against the side and held him in. With a last, terrible heave, Thundercracker drew in the last of the stimulus, and collapsed in a debilitated, sparking pile of metal on the fluid-slicked surface of the table.

He looked up at his Leader. "Takes more... input... to reach... climax... each time... you try it," he explained in a hoarse whisper.

"Then why do it?" demanded Megatron. The words were pinched; he couldn't keep the horror from his voice.

"Because I must," replied the Seeker. "Once you start, you crave it like the touch of Primus Himself."

Megatron leaned against the platform where his underling was sprawled, supporting himself on his good hand. His gyros felt a bit unsteady.

He reached out with his wounded hand, wanting to wipe away the accusing smear of purple energon that trailed from one corner of Thundercracker's mouth. But he couldn't bring himself to touch the prone form before him, even though the hand was numb. "I didn't understand," he said.

The blue jet just looked at him.

"I'm sorry."

"But it's not me you should be apologizing to, is it?" came the flat voice of the fallen Air Commander's wingmate.

* * *

"Lord Megatron."

"Report, Soundwave."

"Starscream has been constructing machines designed to stimulate the pleasure circuits."

The gray mech barked a caustic laugh. "What will that little scrap-eater think of next?"

"He has been testing them on his fellow Decepticons."

"What? They actually _let_ him?" Megatron asked incredulously.

"They have been holding lotteries for the privilege."

Megatron leaned forward in his chair. "Let me get this straight," he snarled, his voice sinking to a dangerous low growl. "My soldiers are _lining up_ to have their sensors tweaked by a mech they know is almost _guaranteed_ to blackmail them with vid-files he collects of their pathetic shrieking overloads?"

The blue mech nodded. "It appears the pain desensitization protocols have had an unexpected side-effect," he replied bluntly. "They seem desperate for any kind of pleasure. Apparently, they crave it enough not to care where they get it, or about the risk of humiliation." The Communications Officer pressed a button on the viewing console.

Megatron watched the images that Soundwave had collected as they flashed across the screen. Suddenly he laughed harshly, a sound devoid of mirth. "He really is an idiot," he snorted, "To think to win their gratitude this way."

* * *

Footfalls echoed in the corridor; and both mechs looked up as Optimus appeared in the doorway. He froze, surveying the tableau before him, and Megatron watched him set his jaw. "I wondered how long it'd be before I found you here," the Prime said grimly.

The Autobot Commander strode purposefully between leaning machines to where Thundercracker lay. He clasped the spent mech's hand in a strong grip, and hauled him upright.

The tetrajet met his old enemy's blue optics with a look that was both defiant and pleading. "I had to make him see," he said, his shoulders hunched like a newling caught in vandalism. "I needed him to know."

"I understand. Now go."

But Prime called after him, as the Seeker walked unsteadily from the room. "Thundercracker? Fly well, friend."

The Seeker gave a curt nod. In the doorway, he turned to face the two Leaders of Cybertron. "Help us," he begged. "It is your _duty_." The two tall mechs stood silently together as they listened to his faltering footsteps shuffle away up the stairs.

Prime turned a hardened face to his bond-brother. Then he noticed the slow drops of processed energon running from the gray mech's lifeless hand and pooling at his feet on the scummy floor. He pursed his lips. "Let me see that," he said.

"I can take care of it myself," growled Megatron. He shifted slightly to one side, so as to hide the injury.

"I know you can," said Prime, unfazed. "But you don't have to. I have ten working fingers; you have five. Give me the hand."

Defeated, Megatron mutely held out his arm.

Prime took it, and bent to examine the broken wrist. "You know," he said, his tone subdued, "It was beginning to spread among the Autobots, as well. I didn't know how to stop it." He drew a long cycle of air through his vents. "We did what we could for them, when we found out about it. I had some confined to quarters till the need grew less. Others I had followed to make sure they didn't stray back here. I put my best scientists to researching antidotes. But nothing worked. Nothing erased the addiction from their processors. It was like a virus, always coming back..." As he spoke, he fumbled torn-out lines back into their ports with clumsy fingers too big for the job. The leak subsided.

Megatron looked down at his hand, and flexed the fingers; but he quickly clenched it to a fist when he saw that it was shaking. It was too much, all this resurgence of the past to haunt him, and he did not know how to process it. He felt behind him for something to lean on, and found nothing.

But Optimus wrapped steadying arms around the other's trembling frame, shoring up his bond-brother's breached defenses. Without a word, he rested his dark helm against the Decepticon's gilt brow.

"They're killing themselves," the Decepticon said numbly. "What can I do?"

Before the Prime could reply, however, a crisp feminine voice called from the top of the stairwell, "Optimus? Are you there?"

Both mechs gaped at each other in wide-eyed horror. "Elita! Stay away from here!" Prime cried out. If this room had effected even Megatron, what would it do to the highly-empathetic femme? Hastily, he pushed his way toward the door to bar the entrance.

But Elita carried on down the steps despite Optimus's warning. She'd seen many horrors of the war, and had some gears to grind. "Is Megatron with you?" she called. "I've got a thing or two to say to him..."

"Stay back, Elita!" the Decepticon implored.

But she was having none of it. "I've just spoken with Thundercracker," she went on, sounding grim. "I think he has more brass than you give him credit for. That's one good way of getting you to face the things you've been refusing to see..." Her voice trailed off as she stepped into the dim chamber. "Oh..." she moaned. "Oh no..."

Optimus knocked over the long table that had barred his path, and reached out to his staggering bond-mate. Elita fumbled back into the darkened, filthy hallway, and began to retch. He caught her just before she slumped onto the floor.

"Can't you feel it?" she gasped hoarsely. She gestured frantically, and Prime turned her to one side, supporting her as she heaved up the contents of her tanks.

When she was through, Prime brought an old polishing cloth out of his subspace, and wiped her quivering mouth. He held the pink femme close, while her mech-fluid dripped down the encrusted walls. The Autobot Commander ran a soothing hand over his bond-mate's plating, and whispered a few soft, private words into her audial.

He stood, lifting Elita in his arms, and turned to Megatron, who'd come up quietly behind them. "She's right, you know. We ought to feel it. By rights we should be purging out here with her." He sighed. "We've kept ourselves apart from this too long, my friend."

Megatron did not reply, but bent to touch his brow to Elita's in regret. He meant to tell her he was sorry. But he retreated hastily when he met the banked fire in her optics.

Elita hooked thin fingers into his armor before he could escape. She pulled him down to meet her laser gaze. "Get your soldiers _out_ _of this_," she rasped, "While you still can."

"I would," he choked, "But little one, I don't think I know how!"

* * *

_The midnight lights bounced brightly off of highly-polished plating, blinding Megatron in his berth. He sat up, blinking, and recalibrated his optical array. _

_Starscream stood there, real as life. His armor shone like it was newly crafted; and his paint seemed barely dry. The dead, gray ghost-mech with a hole through its chest had been replaced by a Decepticon who looked as if he'd just stepped off of the assembly line. _

"_I could have made you happy, you know," the Air Commander said with a smug lift of his chin._

"_Happy?" Megatron's sharp laughter held no mirth. "I doubt that even your capacity for self-deception could blind you to that extent, Starscream. I went down to that disgusting chamber. Thundercracker made me stand and watch." He shuddered. "No, you fragged-up little scraplet; it wasn't happiness you created. It was blasphemy. It was humiliation."_

"_Whatever it was, it sure as slag felt good," the Seeker's smirk was unrepentant. "You know, it might'a done you good to let yourself 'feel good' once every couple'a vorns. You might not've taken out your misery on the rest of us poor garbage-eaters, then." He looked up at his former Commander with an unforgivably sanctimonious expression. "__I__was simply picking up the pieces __you_ _left in your wake._ _I_ _was trying to __help__."_

_Megatron's servos whined with the urge to strike the hated mech. But this was only a dream, his Second's ghost a mere illusion. To try to fight a dream would be demeaning to the Mighty Megatron. So with enormous effort, he kept his clenched fists still._

"_I would have never let you hook me up to your machines, Starscream," he snarled. "You exploited every scrap of vulnerability that unwise mechs gave you the chance to see. I was not so imbecilic as to place myself at your mercy," (he grimaced at fresh memories) " – and in such a revolting manner!" The gray mech jerked a hand impatiently, disliking the topic of this conversation. "You were a fool if you ever thought otherwise, my 'loyal' and 'trusted' Second," he sneered. _

"_Oh yes," the polished tetrajet retorted. "You had to set yourself above the rest of us. " He began a restless, jerky pacing alongside the Commander's berth. "But instead of leading us to glory, the way a true Leader would have done, you only dragged us down into your private Pit, just so you wouldn't have to be in there alone! You always were a selfish little screw, Megatron." _

_He leaned uncomfortably close to the Decepticons' founder. "How did it feel, My 'Lord'?" he hissed. "Did it make you happy when you made us hurt?"_

"_You were no better!" the gray mech shouted. He shoved his undead Second hard, and recoiled in momentary shock at the gleaming apparition's solid weight. "You ran your little pleasure kingdom like a spoiled princeling. You dispensed debauchery like favor, withholding the so-called privilege whenever you felt wronged-" Megatron leaned forward, aggressive in his turn. "Did you think I failed to see the hunger on your face as you watched your 'patients' squirm, Starscream? Soundwave told me how you used to pretend-"_

"_Stop it! Stop it! Soundwave is dead!" the ghost-Seeker screamed shrilly. He stood his ground like the fighter he'd become; but his chest heaved as he cycled air, and all his pristine colors cracked. Bright flakes fell down like dust motes from his graying form. "I wish I could have killed him for myself!" _

"_Yes, he is dead," replied Megatron coldly. He hoped to Primus it was true. Life and death had been unusually blurred of late; and he really didn't want to face a second haunting visitor. He shook his head, trying to clear his processor. He hadn't been programmed to deal with things like this._

"_But even without Soundwave's telepathic insights, I would have understood the reason you constructed those machines, Starscream." The gray mech sat back on his berth and crossed his arms, at ease now in the face of his underling's familiar histrionics. "You say I tried to build myself an army to fill my emptiness. But you too were alone, 'Lieutenant.' You tricked your fellow mechs into becoming slaves to your sick dream. At least I tried to give my soldiers something of real worth," he added pitilessly._

"_But what else did you expect us to do?" the crumbling figure shouted. "You pushed us, tested, tortured us, you made us give and take the pain-." His features twisted in his futile rage. "I tried to give them pleasure! Was that wrong? You'd drained us dry! And not all mechs are as unfeeling as you pretend to be, 'my liege'!" He drew back his hand, and struck Megatron across the face with savage fury. The hardened gladiator barely moved. But Starscream winced, and rubbed at his fingers as if they stung him._

_The blackened apparition looked down at its crumpled hand. Slowly, it began to pull the semblance of life around it again, until the form appeared almost as sturdy as it had before. But there were dents now in his armor-plating, and his paint was scuffed and faded. _

_After a long moment, Starscream wiped his trembling hand across his mouth, and looked up into his overlord's red gaze. "I could have made you happy," he repeated coldly. "How dared you go to Prime... when I was right there all along?"_

* * *

Soundwave was not standing his usual stoic guard at the Decepticon Commander's side. He'd been delivered in several pieces to a grumbling Hook for repairs. Starscream hoped the spying telepath would never be revived.

The recently-appointed Second-in-Command looked down on the broken body of his faction's leader, and smiled darkly. For once, he could compel Megatron's undivided attention. "Prime really worked you over, didn't he?" he commented. "What was it you did this time to deserve it?"

"Shut your mouth and get to work."

Starscream gave a wry smirk. "As you command, Lord Megatron."

The gray mech barely winced as his lieutenant peeled away the shattered slabs of his charred armor. But Starscream's fingers shook. An angry crimson light flickered unevenly within the slick-stained cavity of the old warrior's open, oozing torso. The red jet stared down into it, and froze.

"Get on with it, you moron."

"There's-" The Seeker's face twitched in an unintended spasm. "There's damage to your spark chamber."

"Then fix it, idiot!"

"I don't have the training!"

"So?"

"I'll do what I can; but Megatron, I-"

"You had better."

Starscream tried to keep his servos steady as he touched a soldering iron to a loosened flange around his leader's core. He felt like the worst kind of trespasser. But he also felt like he was finally coming home.

On cue, the lifelong craving rose to choke him; words burst from him before the jet could mute his vocalizer. "I could... I could ease your other suffering, My Lord."

"Put an end to your own, you mean," sneered Megatron.

Starscream threw down his tools with a clatter. "I've seen it!" he protested. "You're as miserable in solitude as I am!"

"The difference between us is that I don't_ whine_ about it."

Desperation lent the Seeker courage. He took hold of his Commander's chin, and forced the big Decepticon to meet his optics. "_Look at me_, Megatron!" he begged, his high voice strained with tension. "I'm _right here!_ You can _trust_ me-"

"Ha! You really are an idiot, Starscream." There was a gurgle in the wounded leader's vocalizer as he turned away in flat rejection. "I'll never be so desperate that I'd link a weakling like yourself to my own spark." He snarled, "Get out of my sight!" and sent the red jet sprawling across the room with a heave of his good arm. "If you can't make repairs without all this pathetic mewling, then you're of no use to me. I'd rather trust myself to... Reflector!"

Starscream struggled slowly to his feet. He did not look back, but keyed the doorway open without a word.

"You fool!" rasped Megatron behind him. "I did_ not_ dismiss you!" The gray mech's vents shunted like the rattle of the scrap cart as he turned painfully back toward his Second. "Get someone on the comm to come and finish the repairs, you worthless slagheap! Don't you dare leave me in here alone!"

* * *

Starscream stood to attention before a kind of throne made from the limbs of fallen mechs, and stared up silently at the Decepticon Commander.

Megatron was lolling lazily upon the grisly seat, looking like the gladiator pit-lord he so recently had been. He waved a hand resignedly. "Let's get this over with," he said. "What is it you want this time?"

"Let me go."

Megatron gave a mirthless laugh. "No such luck."

"_Please_ let me go. I have to get away."

"Coward."

It stung, but Starscream was determined. "I'll leave the planet. I'll leave the galaxy. You'll never hear a blip from me again. Please let me go, before it is too late."

The gray mech smirked, and rolled his thick neck carelessly. _"Traitor,_" he said, smiling. "It is already too late. But know this: I will never let you go. You know more than you should."

The red Seeker stood frozen. Then slowly his rejected soul began to burn with a consuming, savage hatred. "Very well," he spat. "Traitor it is."

Megatron gave his most feral grin, and waved a hand. "You are dismissed, Starscream."

* * *

"_How dared you go to Prime... when I was right there all along?"_

_The words hung in the air between them: accusing, aching, heavy with a life's accumulated burden of defeat. _

_Megatron shrugged. "I've always known that I could trust the Prime," he answered simply._

"_But he was your enemy!" burst the dream-ghost. "We were your own soldiers, mechs you'd-" Starscream broke off. With an impatient gesture, he amended, "You took pains – __our_ _pains, anyway – to craft us into machines willing to __die_ _for you! Why didn't you trust __us__?"_

"_Trust __you__, I assume you mean?" retorted Megatron. "There was nothing this side of the Smelter you could have done to make me trust you, Starscream. I __knew_ _you."_

"_And I knew you," the Air Commander challenged. His form began to fade beneath the blinding midnight lights. "I knew __you__, Lord Megatron__."_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Scene iii**_

Prime sprawled beside the gray Decepticon upon a lonely bench in a forgotten promontory overlook. With a contended sigh, he hooked his fingers behind his neck, and stretched out his legs in front of him with a hissing release of tension. Cybertron's two Co-Commanders often met here for a moment's peace and quiet at the close of a difficult operation. The place was almost always deserted, and the view out over the rising city was restorative to the soul. "All right, Megs old man," he said. "It's time for you to 'fess up. Why are you avoiding recharge? Bad dreams?"

Megatron grunted, but said nothing.

Prime gave the other mech a searching look. "I'm afraid you do not have the luxury of hiding this, my friend," he said. "When you run on low energy – repeatedly – it effects your judgment. And you know as well as I do that leaders can't afford to make mistakes. He put an arm around the other's shoulders. "Don't you think you'd better tell me what's been going on?"

"No," growled Megatron. "I don't answer to nicknames."

"I only call you Megs when you're avoiding difficult questions," replied Prime lightly. But then his tone grew stern. "I'm not above involving Ratchet, Megatron, if it comes down to that," he threatened. "You know you wouldn't let _me_ get away with dangerous behavior like this." The boxy red mech leveled his blue gaze on the Decepticon. "I'm your bond-brother, my old nemesis," he reminded the gray mech kindly. "Stop trying to do everything on your own, and let me _help_ you. We're supposed to be there for each other, remember?"

Megatron turned away, and huffed an angry cloud of dirty air out of his vents. Operating on a low charge for extended periods was indeed dangerous, and the effect was cumulative. His main engine was definitely running rougher – belts slipped, servos squealed, and gears ground. Worse, he'd begun to notice glitches in his central processor. Just this past orn it had taken him three full kliks to access the file on Blitzwing, and the triple-changer had waited in increasing confusion while Megatron tried frantically to recall his name and rank.

But telling Optimus about his dreams would mean admitting they were real. He would have but two alternatives: either he had finally gone insane despite all he'd given to avoid that fate; or the spark of his dead Second was in fact haunting him. Neither option looked inviting.

"What's got the Mighty Megatron so scared that he refuses to take recharge- Even at the expense of his own health?" Prime pressed, refusing to be ignored. "Come on, out with it."

"No," the gray mech whispered.

Optimus relented. He might not be able to read Megatron's thoughts, the way that Soundwave had; but they _were_ bond-brothers, and there was little the Decepticon could hide from him for long. "Does this have anything to do with Starscream's death?" he asked. He knew that few things were more likely to be keeping the Decepticon from shut-down.

"His _death_?" Megatron growled in frustration. "If only it were that simple!"

"If not his death, then what?" persisted Optimus.

"He just won't fragging-well leave me alone!"

"Who are you talking about?"

The gray mech swore. "Starscream, of course," he snapped. "Who did you think?" Cornered, he turned to face the tall red Autobot, his optics blazing anger. "It's just not fair. There's nothing I can change. What can he possibly expect? He's. Fragging. Dead. And he ought to damn well stay that way!"

"Brother..." Prime propped his hands firmly on the other's shoulders, "What do you mean, 'he ought to stay that way'? His shell is lying in the crypt even as we speak."

"I know," replied the gray mech wearily. "I checked."

Prime's unmasked mouth opened, then shut again without a sound.

Megatron pressed his hands to his denuded head. "And yet-" He sighed, defeated, and admitted, "He visited my quarters during recharge." He looked into Prime's deep-set optics. "...And it wasn't for the first time."

* * *

Elita entered Megatron's quarters with her usual circumspection, and looked around her at the austere furnishings. Despite the fact that he had led his faction for millennia, he still lived like a simple soldier. He lived, in fact, like Prime had always done.

His gruff voice broke into her thoughts. "I found you a chair," he said, indicating a blocky, low-backed stool which looked as if it had been dragged from one end of the city-state to the other over the course of its existence. In some embarrassment, he added, "I usually just sit down on my bunk..."

"This will be fine," she told him. "I'll be quite comfortable, thank you." But she did not move to seat herself. Instead, she stood before him primly, her laced fingers the only clue to her unease.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked in sudden hesitation. "You don't have to, you know. I can't imagine that watching over my sorry hulk will provide much in the way of entertainment..."

Elita grinned roguishly. "I suppose I _could_ tamper with the output levels a little," she teased, "Give you some _really_ exciting dreams..." She saw him wince, and in response lost some of her own reserve. She took a single step toward him. "Don't worry, Megatron," she said. "I'll keep you company. We femmes aren't like you mechs, always spoiling for action. It'll only be for two or three cycles. And sometimes I find it pleasant to have some time to order all my thoughts."

Elita had come here in compromise. When Prime had finally gotten all the truth from Megatron, he'd volunteered immediately to stay with the old mech while he recharged. He meant it as a measure of comfort; but he also wanted to assure himself that Starscream was not actually visiting his bond-brother. The idea of a spark refusing to join the Matrix after termination caused him more concern than he was willing to admit. He hated to think that any force could bind a spark to this dimension so strongly that it was unable to escape into the freedom of the next.

He'd been all set to come. But Megatron had declined emphatically. "You're a big part of the problem now yourself," he'd said to Prime.

"How can I be?" the red mech asked. "I wasn't even there!"

"You were," the warrior replied, "And you're here now."

And as he'd met his brother's hollow optics, and recalled the things he'd learned of the Decepticon's connection to his Second, Optimus had seen what Megatron had meant.

And so they'd told Elita. Optimus had been somewhat surprised at Megatron's willingness to let her in on his humiliation. But after all, who else could they confide in? Long before they'd asked her, Elita said she'd do what was required.

But once the Autobots had escorted the spent Decepticon down to his quarters, Prime began to have some second thoughts. He was reluctant, when it came down to it, to leave his bondmate in a place where Starscream – terminated or otherwise – might get the chance to blast another hole in her chassis. He paced around the room three times, carefully inspecting every corner. He reminded her to hold her laser pistol ready, "Just in case." It was only when Megatron threatened to drop dead of exhaustion that the red mech finally agree to leave. "Get me on the comm if you see anything," he told Elita firmly. "I will not be far away."

"Don't worry, Love," she reassured him, smiling. She pressed her palm against his chestplate in a promise. "You're not going to lose me again."

"I'd better not," replied Optimus gruffly, as he cupped his hand over the femme's light fingers. He touched his brow to hers in deep affection, then strode off down the long corridor toward the Command Center.

Alone now, and facing misgivings of her own, Elita looked up into Megatron's fading red optics. "Well?" she said. "Let's get this over with."

He met her gaze a bit shamefacedly.

Elita promised him she would not leave three times, before the gray mech finally flipped the switch, and shut down for a full recharge.

He glanced at her in pleading just before the final gleam faded out of his optics, and dropped a tentative hand onto her shoulder. She hadn't removed it, although even Ratchet would have told her that Megatron would be unable to sense anything during recharge. She understood his hope that some reminder of her presence might follow him into shut-down, to reassure him that he was not alone if he were once again faced by a ghost-Seeker in his dreams.

Now it was half a cycle later. Time had passed slowly and without incident. Grown slightly bored, Elita tipped her chair against the berth so that her head could rest comfortably against Megatron's broad torso. She propped her feet up on a battered storage locker the Decepticon had shoved against the wall of his small room.

The Autobot femme sat still in the darkness; alert, and yet at ease. How many cycles, she wondered idly, had she spent in guarding Optimus's battered frame, not knowing whether he would ever come online again? By contrast, tonight the quiet syncopation of the charge unit and the recumbent mech's idling systems made a pleasant, oddly comforting music. So far, there'd been no change in the somnolent patterns. Everything here was at peace.

* * *

"_Prime's__femme__?" Starscream's face was twisted, almost ugly. "And yet you have the gall to call __me__ coward!"_

_Megatron sat up quickly, and looked around the room. Although every light was lit, he couldn't see Elita anywhere. She'd lied to him and left him. In that first instant of cold panic, he hated her._

_The hand that he'd laid on her shoulder gave a grasping, futile spasm; then he rose abruptly from his bunk. Rapidly he strode around the small room, searching everywhere for some small trace of the pink femme. He paused, remembering the way he'd last seen her – calmly waiting in the dark – and forced himself to think rationally. She'd promised. _

_He shook his head. His dreaming optics might show him an empty room, but Elita wouldn't have abandoned him. Not ever. He slowed his racing __engines, crossed his arms, and__ raised his gaze to face the ghost of his Lieutenant._

* * *

With a quick start of alarm, Elita raised her head to peer into the blackness around her.

"Lights on!" she commanded. But she saw nothing in the room that might explain the feeling of explosive, fiery rage that had suddenly borne down upon her. There was nothing here to see but metal walls, the recharge berth, her stool, and the locker on which her small feet rested. She glanced at Megatron. His shell rested in offline stillness. But the quiet hum of his internal motor had risen in its pitch.

Elita-One shut down the lights again. She didn't want her sight befuddling her other senses. She did not need to see things to believe them.

She tightened her hold on the hilt of her pistol. But Elita didn't fool herself into thinking the weapon would do her any good. Whatever it was that had come in here, it was not likely to be effected by something as corporeal as laser-fire. She felt its hatred beating against her with a force that threatened to wither all the fire in her resolute white spark.

* * *

"_So," the undead Air Commander sneered. "I see it wasn't enough for you to get with Prime. You had to hook your grapnels in under his femme's armor as well." _

_Megatron lunged to his feet with a roar. "Shut your mouth, Starscream. You are disgusting." _

_He glanced down, and had the strange experience of seeing his own body lying still upon the recharge berth. The pink femme leaned against it, looking wary. She could obviously sense something, although she did not appear to see or hear the two mechs standing right in front of her. He watched her thumb the dial on her laser pistol, flicking restlessly between the settings. Tense and alert, she let the front of her chair fall soundlessly to the floor. But as she did, she reached to grasp the hand of his offline form before it slid off of her shoulder. And Megatron loved her for it. _

_Starscream watched all of this, his insolent smile broadening into an obscene grin. He threw a glance at Megatron, then strode around beside the wary femme, and leaned over her, leering. "I suppose I shouldn't blame you," he declared. He waved a hand theatrically down Elita's frame, as if he were showing off the femme to a prospective buyer. "Look at these curves! Mechs just don't have this kind of grace, do they?" He smirked up at his leader. "I suppose, what with there being only four or five female bots left in the world, the temptation must have been almost irresistible. I mean, who'd want to pass up a chance at getting under this pretty pink plating?"_

_Megatron's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. "Shut up, Starscream," he snarled, despite his resolution not to let himself be goaded by the Seeker's baiting words. _

_Starscream grinned triumphantly at his former Commander. He ran an impudent finger along the backrest of Elita's chair, and watched the femme hunch blindly away from him. "Maybe you're right," he said, but with a mocking lilt. "Perhaps I've gotten it all wrong." _

_He bent and peered down unto the little femme's unseeing face. "I can't imagine Prime's a very attentive mate, what with his commitment to his 'more important' responsibilities." He straightened, and gave Megatron a long, appraising look. "I suppose she might have been induced to look farther afield in order to satisfy her desires..." _

_He pursed his lips. "You know, I used to wonder why so few Autobots came to sample my services. Perhaps the answer is they didn't need to. Not with her around..." He stretched a hand out toward the pink femme's shrinking torso. "Slag, if I had known she was so free with her affections, I'd have propositioned her myse-"_

_Megatron's black fist smashed into the Seeker's leering face. "You will never... touch her... again!" he shouted, as he bore the flier to the ground in pieces._

_The ancient gladiator set himself squarely between Elita and his fallen Second. With a vicious kick he sent the sprawling jet skidding into a corner. "Say whatever you want to about me," he growled. "But never, ever speak her name without respect!"_

_Laboriously, Starscream lifted himself onto his hands and knees. He shook his head as if to clear it; and his unhinged lower jaw swung crazily. "Now this right here, Lord Megatron," he gurgled through a flooded vocalizer, "Is what I find so difficult to understand." With grunts and clicks, he patiently pressed small components into place, as energon dripped down between his fingers. "All this time, I thought you always broke the things you touched. You never gave me reason to believe anything else. I never had much hope that you could love without inflicting pain." _

_He staggered to his feet, and leveled a hard look at his Commander. "But even so – and scrap me for an empty sewage-eater – I accepted that," he said. "I craved your love in spite of it. After all," he added, "You'd promised to take care of me."_

_The red Seeker retrieved a final bolt from off the floor. He threw the gray Decepticon a mirthless, crooked grin out of his shattered jaw before he clicked it into place. _

"_You're a cruel, vicious murderer, Megatron." He indicated the gray mech's offline body with a hand. "Yet here you are, cuddled happily up with a femme who's put herself in harm's way for your sake!" He gave the nearest wall a vicious kick. "You don't deserve any of this. And neither does Elita! She told you she would try and love you. And instead of crushing her spark for it, you warble over her in a way that's downright disgraceful! What happened to the Decepticon Creed that you beat into us over all those countless vorns?" The Seeker took a careful step forward, and peered into the deep red optics of his former leader. "You __love_ _her, Megatron," he said. "Don't bother trying to deny it." _

_The ancient warrior crossed his arms defiantly, but said nothing in reply._

_Starscream shook his head, perplexed. "There was a time I could have given you a love like hers. You grovel to Elita for it. Yet me you despised. I just don't understand it. Why did you always treat me with such violent contempt," he asked, and pointed to the way the sleeping mech's black hand still rested on the pink femme's huddled shoulder, "...When you are capable of this?" _

"_What did you want me to do, Starscream?" Megatron broke his long silence acerbically. "Should I have showered you with praise whenever you managed not to making a mess of things?" He scoffed. "You never gave me the opportunity!" _

_He jabbed at the ghost-Seeker with an accusatory finger. "I know how much you wanted to have a share in some mech's soul. But did you ever really think I'd have made myself into such a laughingstock? You were a pathetic little waste-pot, and everybot knew it!"_

"_Well what the slag did you keep me around for, then, oh Mighty Megatron? What in the Destroyer's name did you think you were trying to prove?" _

_Starscream rounded angrily upon his former leader, fists clenched tightly at his sides. "From the first moment you met me, you knew that a single harsh word was enough to wound. Don't bother to deny it," he spat, "I know that grease-rag Soundwave must have told you." He paced fitfully back and forth across the tiny room, as if it were a cage he could not escape. "And yet you never once spoke to me without insult! Would it have killed you to be kind just once?" he demanded. _

"_It might!" returned Megatron hotly._

"_Nothing you've ever done to me makes any __sense__, Megatron!" he shouted. "You knew I was more sensitive to pain than the others; but you took a particular pleasure in striking me down. You valued my dexterity in the air; and you knew that such skill was only possible because I refused to make myself into an unfeeling block – the way you had. Yet you repeatedly attempted to torture me into insensibility! What the slag did you think you were doing? Did you even know?"_

_The gray Commander still said nothing, but there was a flicker in his optics. He knew he'd never been quite rational in his treatment of this particular lieutenant. _

_The tetrajet paced back and forth across the small space at the foot of his Commander's berth. "I loved to __feel__, Megatron! I loved the rush of air across my wings. I loved the heat and cold, the pressure of an atmosphere, and the hungry emptiness of space. I loved the wash of sensory input through all my systems..." Starscream whirled around, and jabbed a finger at his leader. "But __you__-! You tarnished all your sensors long ago. By the time I met you, you couldn't feel anything softer than a hammer-blow. But you had no right to demand that from the rest of us." His optics blazed out in the liquid fire of hate. "I __would_ _have been a better leader, slag it! And I sure as smelting would have taken better care of my soldiers than you did!"_

"_Oh, you think so, do you?" Megatron scoffed. "You never fooled me, Starscream. You'd have only used your underlings to further your own petty, short-sighted ends. The Decepticon Army requires a general to lead them; not a self-serving washout. You never would have led them anywhere but to oblivion."_

_Starscream stopped his pacing, turned, and spoke in a cold, controlled voice. "It doesn't matter what I would or could have done. I'm dead. The only reason I'm still here is my own Primus-damned obsession with you." _

_He glared across at the broad gray mech, and his mouth gave a sardonic twitch. "There was one thing that you did succeed in burning out of me, Megatron," he said. "And that was any gentleness I could ever have given you." _

_Starscream leaned forward until his face was only inches from the Decepticon Commander's own. "I cringe when I think of how much I used to admire you," he said. "I did everything I could to get your attention. I made myself into the fastest, cruelest killer in your army. I stood up to you when no one else would dare to. I gave you everything I had to give. But you never respected me for any of it. The more I tried to please you, the more you detested me."_

"_Like I said," retorted Megatron, "You were a pathetic little waste-pot."_

"_And yet you clung to me," hissed Starscream bitingly. "I tried to leave. But you refused to let me go, despite the contempt in which you claimed to hold me. After all, I was 'like part of your own spark.'"_

_With sudden weariness, the red jet sat down heavily upon the battered lid of Megatron's storage trunk. The bright lights dimmed, and in the dream Elita and the offline shell of the Commander faded from the room. _

_The Seeker huffed and rubbed a hand across his face. "I hated you for what you did to me," he said, sounding exhausted. "But I loathed myself for never hating you enough." He looked blankly up at Megatron. "When I finally realized, vorns too late, that you would never give me your acceptance, I sought to overthrow you. I thought, if you were powerless, I might not care so much for your esteem." He shrugged, and gave a shadow of his old familiar smirk. "And on the other hand, perhaps if you were left alone, without an army to surround you, who knows? You might have turned to me." _

_He shook his head. "Of course I failed. From the beginning, your will held sway over mine. I couldn't defeat you; I couldn't kill you; I couldn't even leave you. Your very existence was pain to me. And yet here I am, still following you around, even after I am dead." He laughed mirthlessly. "I was a fool, just like you always said." _

_In life, whenever Starscream demonstrated his incompetence, Megatron would be enraged. This time, however, he sat down upon his berth without a word. He could not rail against the truth – truth spoken by a ghost whose form had faded now until the seams in the steel walls behind showed through its tissue-frail wings. _

_Starscream looked back at his Commander, and shook his head again. "Bonded with Prime!" he snorted. "After fighting to overthrow him all this time...!" He slapped transparent knees with dull finality, and stood. "Well Megatron, congratulations. You spent a lifetime building up a dream of Decepticon expansion. Now you've thrown it all away. I hope you're happy. You're nothing now but a deluded relic. You've betrayed every one of us who gave our lives to you and to the Cause." _

_He walked over to the small, square window, and looked thoughtfully out of it into the starlit sky. "There's no way of getting back the time I squandered chasing after you. Looking back now, I don't know why I ever thought it was important to please you. I don't need you. I never did." He straightened, stretching out his wings. "I'm leaving, Megatron. I suppose that's one good thing about being dead. I never have to see your face again!"_

* * *

Megatron watched as the Seeker transformed abruptly, and flew out through the impossibly small window. Then the world swirled around him, and dissolved into the insistent beeping of the charge-end signal.

He sat up, blinked his optics once or twice, and squeezed Elita's shoulder gently. "So, how much of that was real?" he asked her flatly.

She turned her chair around to face him, and he shrank back from the black look that she gave him. "I'm going to give you my report," she said without inflection, "And then I am going to go curl up in Optimus's arms and make sure he does not let go of me for four breems at the least. So listen well, because I'll only tell you once."

Megatron wanted to reach out to her, to shield her against the darkness he read plainly in her face. But her rigidity spoke clearly of the brittle hold she had over herself; and he knew his touch would break it.

"Did you see him?" he asked quickly.

"No."

"But you could hear-?"

"I couldn't." Elita pursed her lips impatiently.

"It's obvious that you sensed something, though."

"I did."

"Was it Starscream?"

She paused, and the Decepticon saw her suppress a shudder. "I don't know. But it felt like Starscream's energy." Unconsciously, she scratched her chest as if it ached within. "I've never felt such hatred, Megatron. Not even from you."

But the big mech wasn't listening. "So his spark is still online somewhere?" he asked.

"I don't know!" she said again. "Perhaps his spark is finding a way from the Matrix dimension back into this one. Perhaps some force is preventing him from leaving our world. I'm not an authority on these things."

"So, these dreams aren't just my damn processor glitching."

"No." She stood. "Megatron, I don't blame you for not wanting to face him. But do not ask me to sit with you again. This burden, I'm afraid, is yours." She saluted formally, turned smartly on her heel, and strode out of the room.

The gray Decepticon sat stiffly on his bunk and watched her go. Then he buried his head in his hands, and shook until his armor rattled.

* * *

Elita held her head high as she marched down to the Archives. She greeted passing mechs politely, and listened to their small talk. She knew the bots meant well with their attentions; most of the Autobots cherished their remaining femmes. But right now all she wanted was to be with the one mech who did not treat her as if she were a priceless treasure to be handled with something approaching worship. Well, Optimus did all that, but he did it out of love for who she was, not out of respect for the rarity of her programming. With Orion, she could finally fall apart.

She stopped in front of the familiar entry, keyed in the access code, walked in, and shut the door behind her. She leaned her back against it, sagging in abrupt relief.

"I told you to comm me if you felt anything!" the red mech barked, dropping his datapad. He rose up anxiously from the small desk where he'd been working. "Why didn't-"

Elita silenced him without a word. Once in his arms, she put a finger to his lips, and shook her head. "Optimus," she whispered, "Just shut up and hold me."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Scene iv**_

It was not until several orns later that Elita met again with her old enemy. He found her on the rooftop of the Talus tower one evening, and asked with awkward deference to speak with her. But he wasn't certain how he should begin. And Elita would not try to draw him out. So they stared in silence out over the rising city as the dusk winds drifted past, and the sun settled in a haze of green.

"Does it bother you," he inquired at last, "The way I treat you?"

She gave a light laugh. "Should it?"

He huffed, frustrated. "This is serious, Elita." He looked away, unwilling to meet her gaze. "I don't demand your complete submission to me. I've never hurt you or thrown you bodily across the room. I've never even called you names!" He snorted. "I'm supposed to be the sparkless spawn of Unicron himself. And yet I 'warble over you' like-" He broke off with a shrug.

Elita ignored his sarcasm, and gave an honest answer. "I'm one of the last six femmes of our race. For better or for worse, there's not an Autobot on Cybertron who wouldn't jump in front of a laser blast to protect me. But your fondness is – may I say it – refreshingly personal. I do not take it lightly."

She never touched the gray mech without making the conscious choice to do so, but now she put a light hand on his knee. "You're learning to be kind," she said. "But is that such a bad thing?"

"I don't know," Megatron huffed. He drew away from her, and wrapped his arms around his knees, blocking her out.

It was full dark before he spoke again. Elita stayed, and waited.

"He told me he was leaving. But he's always been a liar."

Elita turned to him in some surprise. "What do you mean? You haven't needed recharge since the last-" She looked at him more closely, and then said in apprehension, "You feel him with you during normal operation, don't you?"

The big mech nodded mutely. After a time, he muttered, "I almost wish I _had_ linked sparks with him. It would have been better than this..." He chuffed. "This bond of hatred." He looked aside at her. "Do you think it's possible for two mechs to hate each other so deeply that their sparks destroy each other rather than enter the Matrix?"

"By the Source! I hope it's not!" Elita shivered.

Megatron hunched in his shoulders and looked sideways at the small femme. "The worst of it is that we _don't_. Not really," he whispered. "We hate what we've become in our obsessive quest to torment one another. But underneath all that..." He stopped, and stared up at a star that flickered above them in the violet sky.

Elita thought a long time before she spoke. "I felt your grief," she murmured. "The night you saved us."

"The night I killed him," the gray mech clarified.

"Yes."

Elita chose her words with care. "I was intertwined with Optimus. But I could feel his jealousy, his hatred screaming out against us." She shivered. "I was afraid. And then you came..." She raised to him a face unmasked, without the cover of reserve she wore in daily life. "I felt your anger. Your resentment. Your fear. But I also felt your love. Love not only for Orion and myself." Again, she put a hand upon his knee. "Beneath the hate you feel for Starscream, you also love him, Megatron. He _is_ a part of your spark."

The Decepticon threw his near-sister a pleading glance, and at her nod, he wrapped his arms around around the little femme and pulled her close. "I don't think that I've ever seen the lugnut for himself," he said. "He's always seemed like part of _me_. All the _worst_ parts..." The big mech plunked his chin down on the crown of Elita's helm. "He was the very essence of my own worst failures," he said. "I hated him for showing me my weakness." Then, barely audibly, he added, "And I pitied the poor slagger."

Megatron's gilt crest had been noticeably absent of late, and Elita found she missed it. It was evidence of how much the impasse with Starscream was getting to him, that the sign of his bravado was kept furled for so long. She ran a hand over the folded slats, and pulled away.

The big mech's optics dimmed, and he let go of the smaller femme. "The little scrap was right," he said. "I don't deserve all this."

"_Deserve?"_ Elita's face grew hard. "I'm Optimus Prime's bondmate. If I gave you all that you _deserved_, I'd disassemble you a single diode at a time!" Her brow furrowed for an instant in a memory of pain. "Love isn't something you _deserve_. Love is a gift. So don't insult me, Megatron, by thinking you can _earn_ it!"

The big mech stared at her, abashed.

"And don't expect Starscream to earn it, either," she said sharply. "Love cannot be a payment. Do you understand what I am telling you?"

"I'm trying to," he said, unusually contrite.

"That's good." Elita flashed him a brief smile.

"But I do not have any love to give that piece of slag," he said. "Well, not the kind he wants," he added harshly.

Elita gave the taller mech a knowing look. "You say he always sought for your approval. Perhaps there's something you could say-"

"You mean pat him on the back and tell him, 'Good job, Starscream; you excel at ghosting?' I don't think so, little one."

"Well, pat him on the back, at any rate," she told him lightly. "It's a good start. And a little kindness might be all he needs in order to move on. To free you both."

"And if it's not?" demanded the Decepticon. "What if he _never leaves?"_

She turned to face him. "You're the mighty Megatron," she said. "You're sure to think of something." She scrambled to her feet, old servos squealing softly at the motion after long passivity. "May I suggest you try to see the Starscream who is real, and not just the tin-foil cutout you've concocted in your processor? Look for the mech behind the enemy." She quirked a smile at the Decepticon. "You'll be surprised at what you find."

He grunted noncommittally.

"And now," she said, "I'm going to take advantage of the fact that Optimus has unscheduled breems this evening. I have you to thank for that. We never got to spend much time together before the Ceasefire."

Elita walked away, but turned and called a last thought over her shoulder from the elevator's door. "Remember, Megatron my friend, that you are good at being kind. And you do know how to love." She shrugged. "I am alive because of it."

* * *

"_Why are you still coming here?" asked Megatron._

"_I don't know any more." _

_Such a listless reply surprised the gray mech. Even when battered, insulted, and defeated, Starscream had always – always – leapt up snarling. But not tonight. Tonight, for the first time since Megatron had known him, the red Seeker was... numb._

_The ghost shuffled a few steps and sat down heavily on the room's storage trunk, his hands palm-upwards on his knees. "There's nothing I have left to scream at you," he said. "I thought that I was free. And yet I find myself still coming back to you, like always." He raised his face to meet the old mech's gaze. "I don't think I know how to leave," he said apologetically._

_Megatron sat up, dropped his legs over the side of his bunk, and leaned his elbows on his thighs. "And I don't seem to know what I can do to make you go," he said. _

_Starscream looked up in mild surprise. "You're not going to yell at me?"_

"_What would be the point?" the gray mech asked. "If we are stuck here with each other, yelling seems a waste of time and energy." He rolled his neck, exhausted by it all. "Besides, Elita told me I should be nicer to you. I make no promises, though," he added, in his usual low growl._

_Starscream's mouth dropped open. "What is it with you and Elita-One?" he asked in obvious confusion. "Why do you confide in her, of all bots? She's not even your-" he choked a little on the word, "-Bondmate. Why should you give a hunk of slag what she thinks?"_

_Megatron shrugged. "Elita's nice to talk to. I enjoy her company." He stopped and raised his hands in quick denial. "But I'm not-!"_

_Starscream gave a short laugh. "Elita-One would rip your neural cortex out if you tried anything. Then Prime would slagging kill-" He stopped and grimaced, thrown off balance. "Frag," he whispered. "Bonded with the Prime." He wiped a hand across his face. "But I suppose I should have seen it coming. He was the only one you ever treated like an equal." _

"_It seems that we have snobbery in common."_

"_What, you and Prime? Of course you do!"_

"_No," said Megatron. "I meant myself and you."_

_The two mechs stared at one another. _

_Time passed in silence, and Megatron was moved by a reluctant curiosity. Psychoses were more common than plain sanity among the ranks of the Decepticons; but even the most mal-programmed mech among them had often reassured himself, 'at least I'm not Starscream.' Despite that, in the past their Leader had assumed his Second had a crew of malcontents to plot and grouse with. Now he was less certain. "Whom did __you __go to, when you needed a friend's advice?" he asked._

_Starscream laughed hollowly. "I haven't had a friend since-" He broke of with a strangled choke. "Primus," he whispered. "I haven't thought of him in vorns."_

"_Who?" asked Megatron._

"_The last true friend I ever had," the ghost-jet replied sullenly. "You ordered me to kill him, of course." His lips moved soundlessly to form the long-forgotten name. And Megatron watched as a change crept over the dead jet, so slowly it was almost imperceptible. _

_The Seeker's features softened. Instead of the accustomed sneer of hateful resentment, his expression changed to one of hope: untarnished; almost eager. The hard veneer of cruelty Starscream had built up around himself melted away in kliks. His colors bloomed, polished and bright. And the Decepticon insignias upon his wings sank into the white metal skin as if they'd never been. _

"_Tell me about this friend," said Megatron. He wondered at the power of a mech whose memory could bring such a profound change in his Second. "What was his name?"_

_For a long time, Starscream did not answer. He sat with his hands clasped tightly between his knees, his arms and body rigid. When he replied at last, it was in a tight, protective whisper. "Halfback."_

_As the red jet gave up the name, his frame fell slack with a sharp hiss like pain. Halfback was the one untainted thing in all the wreckage of his life, and he'd just sold his memory to Megatron. But Starscream had never been able to keep his treasures safe from his Commander. _

_It took Megatron nearly two kliks to retrieve the file from his CPU. Under a grainy image of a squarely-built brown bot was the brief entry: _

Halfback: applied scientist with the Altihex Lab-Group.  
Allegiance: Undeclared.  
Rank: Civilian.  
Alt-mode: Six-wheeled ground-based transporter.

Items of Note: Shares quarters with Starscream, a flier of some possible interest.  
Addendum: Newsfeed Y-4027B/9 An unprovoked attack on the Lab Complex in the third orbit of Altihex is presumed to have been led by a small group of the so- called Decepticon rebels... many casualties, including... Halfback,...

_Megatron vaguely remembered something about sending Starscream out to kill a friend. But spite had led him to command the red Seeker to give up many of the things he loved. The incident at Altihex was blurred among masses of similar files. _

"_What was so special about this groundpounder?" he inquired. "I'd have thought you would prefer the company of other fliers."_

_Starscream looked up, but his unfocused gaze passed right through the Decepticon Leader. "He listened to me," he said dully. "He never asked me to be anything but what I was. Didn't need me to be something else," he clarified. "He let me go my own way; but he stuck to his own path." The Seeker gave a little half-shrug. "I admired him for that. I never could manage to hold out..." _

_His focus sharpened, and his voice went hard. "I never risked my plating just to save my principles. Oh, I'd put up a token fight sometimes. But I never fought quite hard __enough__. I gave you everything you asked for, Megatron." The hot red optics dimmed. "Halfback had slagging __integrity__." He waved a desultory hand. "And look what it got him- Killed in the crossfire of a war that wasn't even his."_

"_How close were you, really?" Megatron asked quietly. "I remember So-" He caught himself, thinking it wise to avoid the touchy subject of Soundwave for the moment. "Someone told me once that you meant to bond with him?" He phrased the statement like a question._

"_No." The single word fell with a hollow sound: empty, bereft, abandoned. "Though I suppose I should be grateful he was kinder to me than the other mechs I've propositioned over my lifetime." His voice took on a coarse, guttural twang. "'Why don't you fix your own damn programming, ya cable-yanking pervert?'"_

_The Seeker sighed. "What Halfback said instead was that I should find wholeness within myself." He raised his optics. "And I tried, Megatron. Unmaker knows I tried." He laughed harshly, a bleak, forsaken sound. "For all the good it did me." He raised his gaze, and blurted out, "His spark was green, Megatron. Green like the open sky. I could have curled up in the safety of his soul, and been content for..." _

_Megatron said nothing. But he understood more than he wanted to admit, as Starscream's pinched voice faded into silence. He sat and watched and wondered, and for once did not condemn. _

"_Primus fragged up when he made me; that's for certain," Starscream snorted. "Halfback was the only mech I ever met who didn't think I was a piece of smelting waste. He said that if I truly needed him, he might consider bonding." Starscream's shoulders slumped, as he curled down into himself. "Halfback took care of me," he whispered, "Even when I didn't deserve it." _

"_Elita told me-" Megatron's voice actuator caught, and he shunted its tiny servos. "Elita said love isn't something we deserve," he offered awkwardly. Grimly, he added, "But I suppose no one deserves to have it ripped out of their hands, either." The gray Decepticon looked down at his lieutenant, and released the pressure in his taut cydraulics in one long, drawn-out hiss. "I should have slagging well left you alone," he muttered angrily. "I should've damn well known better!"_

_Megatron stretched his long legs restlessly, and steeled himself to speak the words that had been, up till now, unth__inkable. "I'm sorry," he said shortly. "I was selfish. I sho__uld not have made you-." He grimaced, and then forced himself to add, "Not when I know what it feels like to be so utterly alone." _

_Slowly, deliberately, Starscream raised his head. His gaze, when it met Megatron's, was murderous in its rage. "You filthy liar." _

_Megatron bristled, shocked and uncomprehending. But the red mech rode unheeding over his spluttered remonstration. _

"_How dare you say that you know what it feels like? __You. Have. PRIME__!"_ _His hard mouth twisted in a brief spasm of pain. "Every slagging bot here loves you now! You're Cybertron's new golden mech. And all the while, I'm here. I'm forced to watch. And dead. And Megatron, I'm more alone than you can possibly imagine." Starscream looked at his Commander with optics that were like two tunnels into the very Pit itself. "It __hurts__, how much I hate you," he choked out. _

_Then in an instant he collapsed to a disintegrating pile of blackened cinders, just as Megatron came out of recharge with a frantic, gasping lurch up to his feet._

* * *

Prime was sitting in his ad hoc office in the newly-built command center, when there came a hesitating knock upon his door. The Autobot put down the stack of progress reports he'd been studying. "Come in, Megatron" he called.

"How did you-?"

Optimus pointed to a little image in one corner of his desk-screen. "Red Alert installs spy cameras as an expression of affection," he replied with a half-smile. "This one turned up this morning."

"Well, turn it off," said Megatron peremptorally. "And turn off all the others."

"You need to talk?" asked Prime.

"I don't know," Megatron replied. "But I know I sure as slag don't feel like putting on a show."

Prime nodded. "Either way, it's done." He typed in a pass-code, then flipped the last switch manually. _It's all right, Red,_ he commed. _You know as well as I do that I'm safe with him. But I'll check in after four breems, and let you know I'm still alive._

_Right, Optimus,_ the Autobot Security Officer commed crisply. _I'll be waiting._

Prime stretched his arms behind his head, then gestured to a second chair beside the massive touch-screen workdesk. "Want to help?" he asked.

Megatron curled his lip at the disorder of his Brother's station. "I wouldn't even know where to begin," he said contemptuously.

Prime leveled a long look at his fraternal mate. "Begin at the beginning," he suggested. "It's usually best."

Megatron fidgeted a bit, then fell into the proffered chair with a short burst of profanity.

"It's about Starscream," he said. "Although I'm sure you figured out as much." He snorted. "Damn mech would have killed himself a hundred vorns ago, if he'd known I'd give his ghost this much of my attention."

Prime nodded, but said nothing. He waited.

The big mech rubbed a hand across his face, his gesture unintentionally similar to one of Starscream's.

"I laughed when Soundwave first brought him to me," he said. "He was so full of fire – like a star on the edge of supernova. I was delighted. I thought what fun it would be to direct his flare-ups at my enemies."

Now he too stretched his long limbs out, but restlessly, as if they itched him. "Poor slagger. Always wanting to be puppet-master, but knowing all the while he would forever be my stooge. I suppose I ought to pity him..."

"He wouldn't want your pity," put in Prime. It was the one thing he was certain of.

Megatron snorted. "No, he wouldn't. He wanted my approval, and that was something I could never give." He turned to Optimus. "How well would you have done, Great Matrix Bearer, if one of your lieutenants was forever demonstrating all the same weaknesses you detested in yourself, but were powerless to change?"

Prime thought about it. "I believe I tend to turn self hatred inward, rather than directing it at others," he replied. "But I too find it hard to countenance my own deficiencies in others. It's not easy facing such an unforgiving mirror."

"Mirror." Megatron gave a harsh snort, as of pain. "You said it, Optimus. That's all he was to me. A hated, hateful mirror. And I tried to shatter it. Over and over I slammed my fist into his face, not wanting to see what it would show me." He looked up, and met Prime's immeasurable gaze. "The things I did to Starscream would have crushed the spark of any other mech. But he refused to break. He just stared up at me with that same defiant smirk, and took everything I threw at him..."

The gray Decepticon rose suddenly, and began to pace around the room. But by now, Optimus was used to this reaction. He leaned back in his chair, and let his optics follow his bond-brother's path across and back again.

"You know the sickest thing about all this?" the big gray mech demanded, turning suddenly. "I thought that I was doing him a _favor_. I couldn't fix myself, so I attempted to make Starscream change. I tried to wring out of him all the follies I detested. Perhaps if he'd been able to become something he wasn't, I could have felt some hope for my own abominable spark..."

He stopped mid-stride, and glared at Prime. "Is this all me?" he asked, "Or is this sudden welling-up of guilt another product of our bonding?" He took a few steps closer, looming, and pointed a hard finger in the red mech's face. "Because if you've infected me with your self-loathing, Optimus, I swear I'll-"

"I don't know if I have or not," the Autobot cut in. He'd timed his interruption to halt Megatron's threat before it petered out on its own, thinking to spare the other's damaged ego. He stood, and met the optics of his enemy, his friend. "But if you like," he offered gravely, "I will look."

Gray shoulders slumped, as Megatron lost all his bluff and bluster. "I need your help," he muttered. "Because I don't know what to do."

Without a word, Prime wrapped a hand around the big mech's neck, and drew him in, clunking his helm against Megatron's brow. He pressed his palm against his Brother's scarred chestplate, beneath which pulsed the deep red spark he now knew as he knew his own. The link between the two of them was still new – tangled, hard to follow – yet he sent his soul along it, tasting as he did so all the colors of the gladiator's knotted melancholy. When he'd found what he was looking for, he raised his gaze to Megatron's.

"My friend... My Brother," he amended, "I'm afraid your 'sudden welling-up of guilt' does not have that much to do with me." He sighed. "Your spark is clotted with unspoken self-recrimination, where Starscream is concerned." His mouth twitched in a little smile. "I know you would have liked for me to give you some excuse. But it is you yourself who want to make amends." Affectionately, he thumped his one-time rival on the back. "And of course I have to say, I think you're right."

He closed down the bridge between them with a message of unstinting love, and stepped away. "I've never understood that jet the way you do. You know him," he repeated, still with one hand firmly resting on the shoulder of the big Decepticon. "And when the time comes, you will know how to take care of him."

The gray mech tensed, each motor and cydraulic linkage whining with the sudden effort. "I promised him," he mumbled hoarsely. "I promised him I would take care of him." He dropped his head and gave an almost bestial snarl. "I ought to be eviscerated for the things I did instead."

"That was the past," said Prime. "But what is stopping you from keeping that old promise now?"

A light flared up in Megatron's coal-fired optics. "Nothing," he declared. "Not a damn, slagging thing." He looked at Prime. "I think, for once," he growled, "I'm going to be a Leader who is worthy of the title."

* * *

It was a subdued group of mechs who trailed through the pleasure chamber. Tables and other equipment had been shoved to one side to make room, but it was still a tight fit. During the last few days, every mech on Cybertron had been required to visit this place. There were mutterings among the Decepticon ranks against displaying such signs of weakness, but Megatron was adamant. "It's time to stop denying what we're doing to ourselves," he told them, "And start looking for solutions to this problem before we self-destruct."

He looked around him now at the dissimilar assortment of Cybertronians whom he had chosen to help in decommissioning of the so-called pleasure chamber. Their faces registered disgust, resentment, shame. Megatron met all their hostile stares, and did not flinch. "Welcome to the Pit," he told them.

He picked up a long, black hose that he had stumbled over on his way into the room, and began coiling it around his arm. "I always said I'd lead you through the Pit and back," he told them. "But I confess that getting back is more than I can do without your help."

There was a nervous shuffling in the ranks of gathered mechs. This kind of talk was something they did not know how to deal with, coming as it did from their Commander.

"So little study has been made of the activities that went on in this room, that we have not yet found an easy way to cure all its addictions." Megatron peered from one face to the next, searching all their closed-off expressions. "So this is where your knowledge comes in handy," he said flatly. "According to my information, every one of you has either watched a friend succumb to this craving; or has suffered it yourself. But all of you have found a way to reprogram your circuits, so that this obsession no longer controls your life."

He moved among them now, watching their faces. "I accept my culpability in all of this," he said. "But even if I were to prostate myself before the seat of Primus himself, I could not end it on my own. What I am asking now is for one or two of you to step forward, and take a leading role in this effort. I will use every resource I have available to help you. But you will be the ones whom the others follow. Please," he urged, "Help me bring an end to our shame. Let us come out of the Pit."

A weighty silence settled over the uneasy, crowded room. It lengthened, pressing down upon each mech, as every bot weighed out responsibility against the loss of reputation. Then at last, a gruff voice spoke. "I'll do it."

All heads turned, as Skywarp stepped forward. "Starscream was my wingmate. Of course I tried his slag. And it was great. But it almost killed me. So I found a way to stop." He shrugged. "But then, I had a friend to help me. Megatron is right. No one can purge this craving on his own." He looked out at the shifting group of mechs, and gave a rakish grin. "I'll lead this sick parade," he called. "Who's with me?"

But no one spoke. A small murmur of discontent spread its insidious fingers through the room. It was Brawn who finally gave voice to it. "That's great for you, Skywarp. You'll be the next Decepticon hero. But what about us Autobots? I ain't ready to come cryin' to a Decepticon about my shameful secrets just yet, Ceasefire or no. Sorry, but that's it," he finished, as his conscience pricked him.

"Then count me in," called an aggrieved, yet resolute voice from the back corner of the room. Smooth and polished, looking every inch the aristocrat he once had been, Mirage moved through the crowd to stand beside the black Seeker at the front of the room with Megatron. His secret out, he glared at all the gaping 'Bots surrounding him, defying them to comment.

He leaned close to the tall black Seeker, and hissed into his audial, "Let's consider that life-debt I owe you paid in full now, shall we?"

* * *

His gauge was reading low again, but this time Megatron was almost welcoming the dream he knew would come. This time, in one way or another, he would end all this bad comedy of errors. He patched himself into the chargers, shunted a servo here and there into more comfortable positions, and powered down his optics.

* * *

_At first, he didn't recognize the huddled ball of blackened metal curled in silent agony in one corner of his room. It was a most pathetic sight, and for a moment Megatron despised his protege for daring to indulge in such a showy affectation of despair. _

_But he remembered all the things that Prime and Elita had told him – all they'd shown him of their own longstanding bond – and steeled himself in his determination to do something decent for a change. If he and Starscream were to be chained forever to each other, then at least he would do what he could to make captivity endurable. He walked the three steps to the once-proud mech, and reached out toward a pale shoulder-wing._

_And Starscream flinched. _

_It was as if, after a thousand vorns of watching for the waiting blow, the fevered jet could sense his Leader's presence without having to look up. _

_The gray mech drew his hand back. "Starscream. It is time to end this," he said firmly. He bent to meet the hunted gaze of his lieutenant, trying to see past the things he'd always told himself were there, and in to what was real. He caught a momentary flicker of defiance in the dull red optics, and smiled grimly._

"_Long ago you made a choice," he said. "You gave up everything you had to stand at my right hand. And in return, I promised to protect you. I tempted you with everything that you desired. I lied to you." He placed steadying hands on either side of his lieutenant's drooping helm, and pressed his ornamented brow to Starscream's ashen one. "I know it is too late," he said. "But I intend to keep that promise now. Here in this place – wherever this place is – I swear to you by all that I hold dearer than my life: I __will_ _take care of you."_

_But Starscream only turned his head away._

_As the Decepticon Commander watched, his Seeker's cockpit crumbled until a corroded hole went right through the the dark torso – a hole that bore the scars of Megatron's own black fusion cannon. The gray Leader could see his Second shutting down, cutting himself off, trying to die. And to his great surprise, he realized this was the last thing that he wanted. _

_After an instant's hesitation, Megatron crouched down and reached around the dulled, disintegrating body, lifting it into his arms. The flaccid jet made no resistance. Sitting down upon his bunk, he hefted the Seeker up onto his lap as if the mech had been nothing more than an unwieldy bale of scrap metal. _

_His mouth pressed tight, he stared down at the wounded shell. Then he opened a drawer in the side of the recharge berth, and removed a much-used, grease-stained cloth. He frowned at it, but shrugged. "It's not as if you can complain about streaked armor now," he muttered. With careful deliberation, Megatron began to run the cloth over the flier's shattered plating. He wanted in some way he did not fully understand to try and smooth out all the many dents and scrapes that he had beaten into it over a lifetime._

_For a long time, nothing changed. But Megatron persisted. He knew that it would likely be an age or two before the Seeker would believe that this was not just some cruel joke – before the spent jet could receive the recompense his leader was trying to give to him. A bawdy oilhouse song, "I'll Shine Your Fenders, You'll Shine Mine," fit into the repetition of the once-white cloth's long strokes, and Megatron soon hummed along in easy, rocking rhythm. _

"_I sang the death-song for you," he murmured, as he drew the cloth along a crumpled wing. "I never sang it for any other. Not even Soundwave," he added firmly, for the other's benefit. For although Starscream's optics remained stubbornly unlit, and though his frame was still as limp as any offline drone's, the gray Commander knew that the spiritless mech was listening. _

"_Starscream," he said, his harsh voice gruff. "You are, and always have been, more than adequate. I should have said so long ago. I'm sorry." _

_He flipped the soiled rag between his fingers, searching vainly for an ungrimed portion. With care, he wiped at the cracked lenses covering the Seeker's optics. Then he gently ran the cloth across the flier's wan cheekplates, and cleared the tiny vents along the sides of the dark helm. He noted with strange satisfaction that a fleeting sheen of color waxed and waned beneath his hand._

_He stilled abruptly, then bent to the other's audial. "I __do_ _love you, you precious pest," he whispered in some surprise. "I do."_

_A quiver stirred the blackened form. The limp hand that had lain against his neck tightened its grip a fraction. The ghost-jet's optics flickered, and he hunkered into Megatron's embrace like nothing so much as a scared and wounded newling. _

"_That's right. You heard me," Megatron said brusquely. "Just tell me what you need me to do now, you ridiculous, dear mechling, and I swear to you that I will do it; even-" He broke off and drew himself together, and then added, "Even to the sharing of my spark." _

_At this pronouncement, Starscream let his head fall back and laughed until his engine stalled. _

"_Megatron, you really are an idiot," declared the Seeker, when he could speak again. "It seems that you of all mechs should remember that I'm __dead__. How can I share your spark? This is a dream. It isn't real!"_

_Belying his own words, however, he wrapped his arms more tightly around the ancient mech, and burrowed his face into the silver chest, as if to hide in Megatron's embrace until he crumbled. "This is a good dream, though," he murmured. "And it will have to do." He shrugged. "I'll take what I can get."_

"_You always did," replied the big mech sadly. He held the shriveled shell in sturdy arms. "You can stay with me as long as you need to," he said, "If you're still here when my charge-cycle ends, I'll find a way to carry you with me. Somehow."_

_Again, the Seeker laughed. "You know you've got a load of more important things to do than drag the ghost of an undying mech around with you." He sighed, and added with an effort, "I'm holding back your future. But thanks all the same, I guess." He raised his head. "And Megatron?" _

"_Hmm?"_

_The tetrajet assayed to speak; but all the words refused to come. Defeated, he fell slack, and shrugged. "You know the way I feel for you, you wonderful, demented glitch. I never stopped. I never could."_

"_I know," returned the big mech lightly. "And I know how it will fuel your famous ego when I tell you there were dark times when your care for me was the one thing that kept me from self-destruction." He shrugged, and met the gaze of the dead Seeker. "I'm sorry," he repeated._

_It was not like a dam bursting. It was like the cautious scuttling of tiny, fearful creatures in the dark. But one by one, words trickled from their mouths, and grew in number and in strength until great raucous bursts of laughter broke away the last walls up between them. _

_Easily at last, their voices rose and fell and mingled in the ancient cadences of friendship. They spoke of times gone by, of all the things that might have been, of what the future held, and of the dreams that never would see daylight. Then at last, the Seeker spoke the words they both knew must be said._

"_I think it's time for me to go." Starscream arose, and stood before his leader: blackened, pierced, but straight and smiling._

"_It seems unfair," said Megatron. "You survived the Pit I dragged you through, and for what? I couldn't even give you the one thing you needed most. I was too late." _

_Starscream flashed him the old, sardonic smirk. "Well, you and I both ought to know by now that life's not fair." He shrugged. "I'll see what death will bring me." _

_He bowed his head, and touched his helm to his Commander's gilded brow. "I wish you joy," he murmured._

_Megatron understood full-well what it had cost the Seeker to relinquish his claim on him. He wrapped his arms around the other's frame, and pulled him roughly to his chest, knowing no words could serve._

_But Starscream pushed away. He flashed the gruff Commander his most evil smirk, and out of habit said the thing he knew would aggravate his leader most. "Give my regards to Elita-One, and tell her from me that she's got a lovely aft."_

_Megatron gave him an affectionate smack, so unlike all the others he had thrown over the vorns. "You leave her out of this," he said. "She's not for either of us."_

"_No pretty femmes for me, at any rate," said Starscream; and he took a step away._

_But Megatron reached out and grabbed him by the arm. "How can I let you go?" he asked in sudden consternation. "I do not even know for certain where I'm sending you! I am your __Leader__. And I ought to fragging __know__!"_

_But Starscream wasn't listening. He was staring out unheeding past the tall gray mech, out through the small, square window into the first thin light of dawn. To Megatron's astonishment, the Seeker's wan face brightened in a disbelieving smile of wonder and recognition._

_The big mech turned, as if to learn what Starscream could have seen. But as he did,_ _the Seeker's shell crumbled abruptly to the floor. _

_He made a desperate grasp to catch his friend, but the black cinders fell through his black fingers, leaving naked in the early-morning air a pale blue spark that was almost as colorless as the bleached form that once had held it._

_Megatron cupped tender hands around the little flame, and bowed his head in acquiescence. "Good-bye, Starscream," he whispered. "Find your peace." _

_Now the light of morning rose behind them. And the little globe of one mech's life-force flickered, faded, and went out._

* * *

Megatron woke to the insistent beeping of his recharge unit. He stood, scrubbing a hand across his face. He looked out into the clear blue brilliance of the rising star that was their sun, into a morning sky that was the very color of the spark he'd just watched die. He turned away and stumbled from the room.

* * *

When Prime's thick office door hissed safely shut behind him, Megatron slumped against it. Without a word, he let his body slide down to the floor.

Optimus activated the emergency locks, tapped out the code that would reroute all his Command-level communications to Prowl, and got to his feet. The tall red Autobot walked over to the desolate gray mech, and knelt beside him.

"It's finished, then?" he asked.

Megatron scowled, and choked, "A glorious victory."

"For whom?"

"I do not know." The big Decepticon let his head fall with a heavy thump against the Autobot's broad chestplates. "He's gone," he said bleakly. "He's gone."

Without a word, Prime wrapped his arms around his bond-brother, and held him close.

In ancient times, when such links between souls were more common, the femme songmaster Aria had composed a private hymn of her lament upon the death of her bond-sister. But though the singer had long perished, her great song of grief had been remembered – passed down from bot to bot as more and more transformers found that they had need of it.

He knew the two mechs were not bonded in the strictest sense. Moreover, Optimus's voice had never been attuned to singing. It tended to wander from note to note without much reference to the melody. But he mumbled now a few words from the old hymn, as he pressed his hand in silent affirmation against his bondmate's chest.

_ I am cloven in twain, and my frame has no strength.  
__My right hand has failed me, the one I adored._

* * *

_Starscream looked up into the friendly face, and felt his fear subside. _

"_I thought you might need me," said Halfback simply. "So I waited." _

_The big brown mech held out a hand. "Come on," he said, smiling. "You're going to like this place. Here, __all_ _are one."_


End file.
